


The Stumble and The Fall

by zoicite



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoicite/pseuds/zoicite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The infatuation is understandable.  Arthur understands completely and quite honestly, he’s flattered.  Merlin’s feelings are not the problem.  The problem - the thing that Arthur can’t quite figure out - is why Merlin has begun spying on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stumble

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place somewhere within the latter half of the 1st Season/Series.

Arthur has suspected for some time that Merlin admires him.

No, truthfully, Arthur _knows_ that Merlin admires him, but it’s only recently that Arthur has started to suspect that that admiration may have begun to manifest itself as something of an infatuation. A romantic yearning.

Simply put, Merlin is smitten with him.

It was bound to happen. Merlin, after all, is Merlin. Arthur thinks it’s good – healthy, really – for Merlin to have role models. Role models other than old Gaius, who isn’t a bad role model by any means, he’s just nothing like any of the role models that Arthur has ever had. And if Merlin needs more role models, then modesty aside, Arthur thinks that he’s probably a pretty good choice.

The infatuation is understandable. Arthur would be lying if he said he’d never experienced similar feelings toward those he looked up to, to the knights who helped to train him, to the teachers who’d molded him. Arthur understands completely and quite honestly, he’s flattered.

Merlin’s feelings are not the problem.

The problem - the thing that Arthur can’t quite figure out - is why Merlin has begun _spying_ on him. He’s pretending he hasn’t noticed, but of course he has. It isn’t as though Merlin is some master of stealth. Arthur has caught him numerous times, watching from around corners, from behind statues, and once from hidden within a shrub. It took all of Arthur’s self control not to end the game right there, the urge to mock Merlin was so great.

Arthur’s curious, though not bothered by it enough to put a stop to it. He’d ask, but he suspects the spy game is connected to Merlin’s infatuation, and though usually Arthur might jump at the chance to humiliate Merlin, in this case he’d rather tread a bit more carefully. Still, he can’t help but use it to make Merlin’s life just that much more difficult.

If Arthur happens to notice Merlin, he’ll abruptly change course and walk in that direction so that Merlin either has to scramble away or feign innocence, and frankly, Merlin has never been much of an actor. Sometimes if he’s within earshot, Arthur will discuss Merlin’s shortcomings loudly with his men (who of course are in on the entire thing. Merlin is really very bad at this whole stealth business), listing off the things that Merlin has failed to do in an exasperated and annoyed tone, slowly so that he can be sure that Merlin will hear every carefully articulated word.

It works. Merlin almost invariably begins doing the things that he hears Arthur complaining about, things that Arthur would never request of Merlin if not for the fun of seeing if he’ll actually follow through.

At first Arthur suspects that maybe Merlin just wishes to spend more time with him. Arthur doesn’t necessarily have an issue with that. Obviously he can’t have Merlin around when he is working, or investigating his father’s latest magical overreaction, but in general he doesn’t mind Merlin’s company much at all. So Arthur summons him.

“What is it that you need?” Merlin asks after standing around Arthur’s chambers in silence for ten minutes waiting for Arthur to direct him. If possible, Merlin seems even more antsy than usual.

Arthur doesn’t actually need anything, but they don’t really do this, just spend time together with no real purpose. Arthur looks around the room and tries to come up with something for Merlin to do.

“What?” Merlin asks again, impatience seeping into his tone.

Finally Arthur shrugs and says, “I just want you here in case I think of something that I’ll need you for. If you’re here already there will be no need to send for you. It saves time.”

Merlin is staring at him.

“Gwen is always with Morgana,” Arthur reasons. “It works well for them. You and I hardly seem to know each other when you compare.”

“I thought the current percentage of time we spent together worked,” Merlin says, and Arthur is just a tiny bit disappointed that he can’t find anything in Merlin’s voice to betray the fact that maybe Merlin _does_ want to be spending more time with Arthur. Enough time that Merlin is willing to stalk Arthur just to be in his presence.

“It does,” Arthur concedes. “This is just a trial.”

“All right,’ Merlin nods. He looks around the room, unsure of what he should do with himself.

Eventually Arthur rolls his eyes and motions toward a chair. They sit in silence for a while, watching the fire crackle in the hearth.

“How long do you want me to stay?” Merlin asks, eventually.

Arthur tries to hold his tongue. He really does try, but Merlin is looking at him expectantly and this isn’t how he thought offering to spend time with Merlin would go, and so he throws up his hands, stands from his seat and leans across the table toward Merlin, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Fine, you know what? Never mind. You can go about doing whatever it is you do when you’re not here. It’s not like I care what you do.”

Merlin looks taken aback. He stares at Arthur in silence for a moment before rolling his eyes and settling back into his chair. “No,” he says. “No, I’ll stay. It’s fine.”

They lapse back into an uncomfortable silence. Arthur paces the room twice before coming back to stand at the table. Honestly, Arthur is starting to wish that Merlin had just agreed to leave. Instead Merlin stares down at the table so that Arthur can’t even see Merlin’s expression, just a dark mop of messy hair.

He’s still staring down at the top of Merlin’s head when Merlin asks, “Did something happen?”

“No,” Arthur snaps. Leave it to Merlin to turn it around so that _Arthur_ is the problem.

“Are you going to sit back down?” Merlin asks.

Arthur, feeling suddenly stubborn says, “No.”

Merlin shrugs and resumes examining the wood of Arthur’s table.

The entire thing is ridiculous. They aren’t children. They’ve had civilized conversations before. There is no reason that this should be so awkward or so _quiet_. Arthur clears his throat and decides that maybe he just needs to make more of an effort. Merlin looks up at him, expectant.

“You really haven’t been around much,” Arthur observes, forcing all of the annoyance from his voice. It’s not true, obviously. Merlin has been around quite a lot if you count peeking out from behind pillars and market stalls as being around. “Are you working on some new research with Gaius?”

“Something like that,” Merlin agrees. “Yeah.” He refuses to directly meet Arthur’s gaze.

“He has you off in the woods picking nuts and berries, does he?”

Merlin just nods and taps his fingers against the table. Merlin is full of nervous ticks - bouncing his leg, pulling at buttons, tapping his utensils or his fingers against hard surfaces.

Arthur bites his tongue to stop himself from snapping at Merlin’s finger tapping. Instead he nods as well and pushes himself away from the table, walks around it to stand behind Merlin, then reaches out to rest his hands on Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin flinches. Arthur kneads Merlin’s bony shoulders a bit with his hands. He means it as a comforting massage of sorts, but he must be doing it wrong because Merlin’s shoulders hunch up and he looks like he might be in pain. Arthur stops kneading.

“I hope Gaius isn’t working you too hard.”

“It’s fine,” Merlin says. He smiles up at Arthur but it looks forced.

Arthur sighs. “Try to relax, Merlin. Just being around you lately has me on edge.”

“Sorry,” Merlin says, and he does seem to relax just a little, but not until Arthur removes his hand from Merlin’s shoulder.

**

There is clearly _some_ reason that Merlin is following Arthur. The reason does not seem to be the infatuation that Merlin - though better at hiding it than Arthur expects - still rather obviously harbours. There is something else.

Arthur wracks his brain, trying to determine when it was that he first noticed Merlin lurking behind corners. By mid-morning he’s sure that this whole thing started shortly after Arthur was nearly taken out by a falling piece of masonry. He was conversing with Merlin about the art of archery directly outside the castle walls. Merlin, who can never seem to pay attention to anything for long, noticed the falling brick and pushed Arthur out of the way moments before the stone hit the ground exactly where Arthur had been standing.

They stayed as they were for a moment, a tangled pile of limbs in a cloud of dust, both breathing heavily and staring open-mouthed at the brick that probably weighed about as much as Merlin.

“Lucky you were there,” Arthur said, trying to keep his voice steady. After all, meeting his end while battling a Griffin was one thing. Death by falling rock would just be an embarrassment.

Later that same week, Arthur nearly fell down a staircase due to loose stone work on the top step.

“This castle is falling apart,” Arthur grumbled, shaking Merlin’s hands off of his arm. Merlin looked pale and Arthur rolled his eyes at the display of shock. What he really meant to say was ‘thank you’, but his heart was racing a little and the whole thing was a bit humiliating and the thanks were pushed aside for the moment.

It is three or four days later that Arthur first notices that he is being followed.

**

Arthur likes to think that he would have noticed just as quickly even if Morgana didn’t stop beside Arthur in a courtyard and say, “Why do you have Merlin hiding in the bushes?”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur asks, looking from Morgana to Gwen, who quickly looks away rather than meet Arthur’s eyes.

“Merlin. He’s over – “ Morgana starts and then seems to think it through and says, “You didn’t tell him to – “ and then stops, most likely not wanting to get Merlin in any kind of trouble. Sometimes Arthur thinks that Morgana is more loyal to Merlin than she is to him.

“Well, never mind,” Morgana says and changes the subject, tries to discuss some new decree of his father’s instead. Arthur nods and scans the yard, eventually spotting movement in the bushes along the eastern wall. That same afternoon he turns and sees Merlin stop abruptly at the other end of a long corridor, quickly sliding back into a corner along a wall where he is out of sight. Arthur stares for a moment and calls Merlin’s name, but there is no answer.

**

He spends an afternoon trying to connect what he knows: the infatuation, the events that result in Merlin turning stalker, their uncomfortable evening in Arthur’s quarters, and after finishing one mug of ale and starting on another, Arthur finally comes to a conclusion.

The pieces started to come together that morning when Arthur, preoccupied with working out the puzzle of Merlin’s behaviour, tripped over a rut in the road and stumbled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Merlin start, ready to dash out from his hiding place behind a rickety old cart. Merlin’s hand was raised as though perhaps his arm was long enough to prevent Arthur’s fall even from that distance.

Arthur regained his balance and Merlin retreated, but not quickly enough, not before Arthur began to fit it all together and once he does, it’s so clear. Merlin is following Arthur _hoping_ for another act of clumsiness on Arthur’s part. At first Arthur thinks that Merlin is just looking to increase the number of times that he’s saved Arthur. Maybe Merlin needs to ask a favour and is trying to butter Arthur up, use it as leverage.

Then Arthur remembers the rush of adrenalin that day outside the castle walls, their heavy breathing and tangled limbs as they stared at the place where the stone brick had landed, Arthur’s hand resting low on Merlin’s stomach so that he could feel each quick breath that Merlin took. Merlin isn’t looking for leverage. Merlin is looking for an excuse to touch Arthur without seeming obvious, without giving himself away. Merlin isn’t trying to save Arthur, he’s trying to _grope_ Arthur. It isn’t merely Arthur’s presence that Merlin craves. Merlin needs physical contact.

Arthur smiles and looks up from his drink.

“What’s that look?” Merlin asks. He’s gathering a pile of clothing together that Arthur has asked him to wash.

Arthur downs the rest of his ale and then grins at Merlin and says, “You know, Merlin. One more mug of this ale and I’d be up for just about anything.”

“Meaning?” Merlin asks. He picks up one of Arthur’s shirts from the floor and sniffs it, scrunches up his nose and adds it to the pile.

Arthur shrugs and tries to stop smiling, but he can feel the trace of his last smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It means,” Arthur starts as he stands from his chair. “It means, that – what I’m trying to say here is that I probably wouldn’t be opposed to anything you might have in mind. If you have something in mind. If what you have in mind is kissing me, that is.”

“What?” Merlin repeats, looking up from Arthur’s laundry. “What did you say?”

“I know what you’ve been up to and I’m telling you that it’s all right, Merlin” Arthur reiterates, only slightly annoyed that Merlin hasn’t been paying attention. “You can kiss me.”

“Kiss you?” Merlin parrots. “Why would I kiss you?”

Arthur blinks at him. “Just come here,” he says, motioning Merlin toward the table.

Merlin hesitates and then drops the pile of laundry and takes a few steps toward Arthur. Arthur, impatient, takes a few steps forward to meet Merlin halfway. Merlin recoils a little when Arthur reaches for him, closes his eyes when Arthur grips his arms.

“What is wrong with you?” Arthur demands. This isn’t at all how he thought it might go.

“Me?” Merlin asks, eyes open now and glaring. “What’s wrong w-“

They both jump as a log cracks in the fireplace and flames burst out into the room, licking the wood of the table where Arthur had been sitting moments earlier.

“What in God’s name,” Arthur says, watches the flames die down before he turns to Merlin. Merlin’s mouth is hanging open. Arthur has instinctively pulled Merlin close so that his arms are around him, a hand protective at the back of Merlin’s neck. He releases Merlin now and takes a step back.

Merlin doesn’t say anything, instead he walks the few steps toward the window, leaning out and looking in all directions before turning to frown at Arthur.

“Sometimes I think this old castle is haunted,” Arthur says in an attempt to clear the air and lighten the mood. He is only half joking.

“This castle isn’t that old,” Merlin says.

“It’s an expression.”

“It’s actually a pretty new castle,” Merlin continues.

“All right,” Arthur sighs and waves a hand to dismiss Merlin.

Merlin picks up the laundry that he’d discarded on the floor and then turns back to Arthur. “Who told you I wanted to kiss you?” he asks.

Arthur shrugs and says “Do you?”

Merlin shrugs back. “I hadn’t thought much about – I don’t know. Not really.”

Arthur shrugs again, stuck in the cycle. “Fine,” he says. “You can leave.”

Merlin pauses, opens his mouth to speak and then seems to think better of it. He gathers the last of the pile of Arthur’s clothes and disappears from the room.

Arthur stares at the fire for a while longer. The flames have settled down into a steady orange glow. Merlin recoiling from his touch keeps repeating itself over and over in his head. Arthur has never entirely understood Merlin. If it was the other way around, if someone was offering to let Arthur kiss them, Arthur would take them up on it. In most cases. If it was the other way around and Merlin was the one propositioning Arthur, Arthur certainly wouldn’t have protested. Or well, he would have, loudly and vehemently, but only for show.

Arthur chews on his fingernail and contemplates whether Merlin might be hiding his feelings for show. Arthur sees no reason why Merlin would, or should for that matter. Arthur thinks he’s made it pretty clear by now that he has no intention of turning Merlin away. Merlin in turn has nothing to gain from playing hard to get.

Eventually Arthur shakes his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, kicks off his boots, and climbs into bed. He lies on his back and stares up at the bed canopy. Maybe he is entirely wrong about Merlin. Maybe Merlin isn’t being consumed by the unnatural lust that is so common at their age at all. Maybe Merlin really has no interest in Arthur other than as his prince and his friend. Still, Arthur had been so sure. Almost as though he’s been hoping it to be the explanation.

Stupid, Arthur thinks. Of course that isn’t what this is. Merlin is scrawny, awkward, and likely brain addled. Arthur is crown prince of Albion. They are friends, sometimes when they allow themselves to be, but that is all. It’s all that Arthur wants them to be, and he’s starting to think that maybe it’s all that Merlin wants too. And that is fine with Arthur. That’s better for Arthur. Sleeping with servants always ends in awkwardness. So Arthur hears.

**

Arthur can’t have been asleep very long before Merlin bursts back into his room, shouting. Arthur is out of bed, shouting back at Merlin about knocking, about the importance of rest, and pulling on his boots when a beam collapses, nearly destroying the bed that Arthur was sleeping in mere moments before.

“You knew that was going to happen,” Arthur says, turning on Merlin with an accusatory finger.

“Not exactly,” Merlin says. “I was outside. I heard the beam crack.”

“I was inside and I didn’t hear a thing,” Arthur says. “And what are you doing outside my chamber in the middle of the night? How did you know when to burst in like that? Why have you been _spying_ on me?”

Arthur is shaken and he’s had enough. He’s through with Merlin’s games. So far he has seemed to jump to all the wrong conclusions and it’s caused him nothing but headaches and embarrassment and a slight longing that certainly wasn’t there before he started thinking too hard about things he hadn’t spent nearly so much time thinking about before.

“Well?” Arthur prods. Merlin seems reluctant to speak, but Arthur is the prince here and Merlin will tell him what this is all about. Arthur is no longer amused by any of it.

“We thought it would be best not to tell you,” Merlin says.

“Tell me what?” Arthur demands.

“The castle – We, I mean, Gaius and I, believe that it may be cursed. Or possibly enchanted. I’m still not sure the difference. Either way, it’s trying to kill you.”

“The _castle_ is trying to kill me,” Arthur repeats, feeling the anger rush out of him at Merlin’s words. He sighs and sits on the edge of the table. “ _That’s_ why you’ve been following me around? To make sure that the castle doesn’t try to kill me again? Merlin, that’s the single most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“How long have you known I was watching?” Merlin asks.

“Since you started,” Arthur snaps, a bit more harshly than he means to. He shakes his head apologetically and continues. “And now you can stop. I’ve had a stroke of bad luck. That’s all. The castle is not enchanted or cursed. There is no magic here and I have better things to do than serve as a cure for a physician’s boredom.”

“Arthur,” Merlin begins to protest, but Arthur holds up a hand. He pushes away from the table and guides Merlin out of his chambers and into the hall.

“Good night, Merlin,” Arthur says. He is about to turn back into his chambers when Merlin reaches out to touch his shoulder. Arthur tries not to misinterpret Merlin’s touch, ignores his disappointment that there’s probably nothing there to misinterpret. “What now?”

“Nothing,” Merlin says. “Just – where are you going to sleep?”

Arthur looks at his bed, in complete disarray.

“I could set up the room next –“ Merlin starts, but Arthur holds up a hand to shut him up. He stalks past Merlin and into the next room, shutting the door on Merlin before he can finish his sentence. The room is cold, but the bed is intact and Arthur climbs beneath the blankets and closes his eyes.

**

Merlin doesn’t stop following him, even after Arthur stalks over to the tree that Merlin is lurking behind, pulls Merlin out by the scruff of his shirt and hisses, “Stop. Following. Me.” It works for half a day before Arthur spots Merlin crouched behind a cart. This time Arthur stares pointedly at Merlin and when Merlin finally meets his gaze, Arthur just raises his eyebrows and continues about his business.

The fact is, and Arthur is loath to admit it, he’s starting to find that he enjoys Merlin watching him. He finds himself adjusting his clothing, his posture, smiling at his men more. He realizes he’s showing off, preening, that he’s reveling in having someone watch his every move, even if it’s someone who blatantly denies any desire that the watching turn into anything more. Arthur has been watched his whole life and he knows that he should be used to it. He _is_ used to it, which only makes his response to Merlin that much more pathetic.

Arthur puts up with it until three days following the incident in his chambers when he’s walking down a hallway in the castle and suddenly, out of nowhere (not that he would admit it should anyone ask, but Arthur actually hadn’t realized he was being followed at that point.), Merlin comes bounding around a corner and tackles Arthur sending them both sliding across the stone floor.

“Are you insane?” Arthur asks, pushing at Merlin.

Merlin pushes him back, harder than Arthur would have expected him to, hard enough that Arthur’s head knocks against the stone floor, and then turns just as the suit of armour that Arthur was about to walk past falls with a deafening boom. The head breaks off the statue. It is filled with heavy round stones that spill out onto the floor. Merlin turns back to look down at Arthur, raises his eyebrows. Arthur turns his head away, to stop himself from hitting Merlin, though mostly he’s thinking about maybe grabbing Merlin’s smug face and kissing him. It just makes him want to hit Merlin that much more.

Arthur hears a shout and footsteps running.

“Come on,” Merlin says. He’s off the floor in an instant, reaching out to pull Arthur up as well. Arthur means to protest, to demand why they should run from his own men, but he finds himself following Merlin anyway, and before long they are racing into his new temporary chambers. Merlin slams the door shut behind them.

“How did you know that was going to happen?” Arthur demands, pushing Merlin just a little so that Merlin is trapped between the wooden door and Arthur.

“I saw the statue shake,” Merlin says.

“Because you were watching me,” Arthur concludes. “You’ve been following me for weeks now, even after I’ve told you repeatedly to stop. If I didn’t know how harmless you are, I’d be required to throw you into the dungeon for plotting against me.”

Merlin rolls his eyes at Arthur and shakes his head, and then seems to reconsider his lie. “There have been things happening that you haven’t seen.”

“What sort of things?” Arthur asks warily. He’s been so busy keeping one eye on Merlin that he thinks it might be possible that he’s been missing something.

“Statues falling, bricks collapsing, all manner of strange things. Freak accidents and they’re all centered around you,” Merlin says. He’s still breathing hard and he reaches out to set a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, then thinks better of it and drops his hand back to his side.

“The castle is possessed with a magic spell and trying to kill me,” Arthur concludes, remembering their conversation from a few nights prior.

“Yes,” Merlin hisses, and this time he does reach out, grips Arthur’s shoulders as though he intends to shake some sense into him. Arthur wouldn’t blame him. Frankly, standing so close to Merlin, Arthur’s thinking he could really use some sense.

Arthur looks down at Merlin’s hands and says, “How do I know _you_ aren’t the one trying to kill me?”

Merlin just gives him a look. “I’ve been following you around trying to _save_ you,” Merlin says.

Arthur reaches up and lightly touches the back of Merlin’s hand where it rests on his shoulder. Merlin’s skin is cold and Merlin pulls his hand away at Arthur’s touch.

“Sorry,” Merlin says, and Arthur just shakes his head, decides that good sense has always been an overrated quality, and kisses him. Merlin, surprised, doesn’t respond at first, tries to take a stumbling step back in fact, but the thick wood of the door stops him and Arthur steps in to fill the space that Merlin has just vacated, steps in and cups Merlin’s face in his hands, rubs his thumb across Merlin’s flushed cheeks and then kisses him again before Merlin might have a chance to protest.

For a moment it’s like kissing that statue in the hallway. Merlin seems to be paralyzed, standing there as Arthur kisses his unmoving lips. Arthur is not quick to accept failure, and he kisses Merlin again, twice, and then once more. He sighs against Merlin’s unresponsive mouth, opens his eyes to see Merlin staring at him.

Arthur can’t hold his gaze. He feels sense rushing back into his body and his cheeks flush. He releases Merlin’s face and pulls away, starts to turn in embarrassment and opens his mouth to ask Merlin to leave. Arthur doesn’t manage to get an entire word out before Merlin’s hands are on him, pulling him back, kissing him back, once, chaste and dry.

Arthur pulls back and frowns.

“What?” Merlin asks. Arthur imagines that Merlin’s frown is a mirror of his own.

Arthur thinks it through for a moment and then says, “You didn’t just do that because you’re in my employ, did you?”

“I don’t – “ Merlin starts. He reaches a hand out to touch Arthur’s arm. “Should I?”

“No,” Arthur says, recoiling a little. “Of course not. I would never – you were going to kiss me because you think you’re required to?” He turns back to Merlin and tries hard not to look as disgusted as he suddenly feels.

Merlin stares at him for a moment in silence, his eyes seem to be taking in every inch of Arthur so that suddenly he feels exposed, self conscious. It’s completely different to the way Merlin’s eyes had felt to him before Arthur had forced himself on Merlin. Arthur should apologize, explain, something.

Merlin looks down at the floor and says, “Don’t be stupid. I don’t do everything that you tell me to do, you know.”

Arthur’s frown deepens slightly. “Yes, you do.”

Merlin just shrugs.

Arthur sighs, steps away from Merlin, crosses the room and collapses onto his back on the bed, pushes his hair off his forehead. “It was a stupid idea.”

Merlin looks down, refuses to look at Arthur for a moment and then nods in agreement. He licks his lips and moves to leave. Arthur sits up.

“You don’t have to leave,” Arthur says. “That’s not what I meant. Not to say – you _can_ leave, you just don’t have to.”

Merlin thinks about this, then crosses the room and sits beside Arthur on the bed.

“You’re not making a lot of sense tonight,” Merlin says, eventually, and Arthur feels the corner of his mouth turn up in a smile. Merlin returns the smile, then lies back beside Arthur on the bed. A bold move from a manservant, but a friendly and promising gesture of forgiveness from a friend in light of Arthur’s earlier proposition. They lie there side by side on the bed, not touching but close enough that Arthur can feel warmth radiating from the body beside him. He’s surprised that Merlin isn’t leaving, isn’t rushing out of Arthur’s chambers as fast as he can.

Eventually, Arthur accepts that Merlin is apparently not scarred by Arthur’s molestation, and does not need to run to safety. He turns to Merlin and says, “So. The castle has been taken over by magic.”

“It seems that way, yeah,” Merlin agrees, visibly relaxing at the change in subject.

Arthur sighs. “Perfect. My father will be thrilled to find out about this.”

“You’re going to tell him?” Merlin asks.

“Do I have any choice?”

“Of course you do,” Merlin says. He rolls onto his side and props up his head with his elbow so that he’s looking down at Arthur. “We take care of it ourselves.”

Arthur snorts a little. “How?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Merlin admits. “First we need to figure out what this is – who is doing it.” Arthur opens his mouth and Merlin holds up a hand to silence him. “Anyway, if you get the king involved who will he assign to take care of this? You.”

Merlin has a point.

“By not telling him, you’re probably saving some innocent person from near execution,” Merlin offers as further bait.

“All right, all right,” Arthur concedes. “We’ll deal with this ourselves.”

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” Merlin suggests. He presses his fingers lightly to the back of Arthur’s hand. Arthur rotates his hand so that Merlin’s fingers dance across his more sensitive palm.

“Sleep here,” Arthur offers, before he can stop himself.

Merlin looks like he plans to argue and Arthur cuts him off quickly. “Just tell Gaius I kept you up all night working,” Arthur suggests. Merlin doesn’t have to answer to Gaius regarding his whereabouts and Arthur is sure that Merlin knows that, but Gaius is a friend, a mentor to Merlin, and Arthur also understands the responsibility that Merlin feels.

“I guess you’re probably safer with someone else here,” Merlin agrees eventually. He removes his tunic and his neckerchief before settling back down into the bed.

Arthur is tempted to make a joke about Merlin’s slight build and new found role as Arthur’s bodyguard, but he bites his tongue and nods instead. Merlin smiles and rolls over so that his back is to Arthur, and after a moment of staring at the back of Merlin’s head, Arthur tosses his shirt to the floor, turns as well and shuts his eyes.

**

Merlin is still there when Arthur wakes up, curled up in a ball as far away from Arthur as the bed will allow. Arthur stares at his back. Eventually Arthur is unable to ignore the bright light illuminating the bed. He reaches out to shake Merlin.

“What?” Merlin asks eventually, turning to blink at Arthur. “What is it?”

“It’s morning,” Arthur says, and points to the sunlight streaming in through the window beside the bed. “We have to start searching the castle.”

“Searching the castle?” Merlin repeats, rubbing a hand across his face.

Arthur looks away and sighs. “How else do you expect to find the person responsible?”

“What if they aren’t in Camelot,” Merlin asks

Arthur shrugs and pushes Merlin a bit, urging him to get out of the bed.

“Do you have a better plan then?” Arthur asks. “I suppose you intend to continue following me around, is that it? A much superior plan to actually searching for the cause of our troubles, I’m sure. Maybe they aren’t in Camelot. We won’t know for sure unless we look.”

Merlin groans and then stands, as though the whole idea of solving this, just the two of them (and Gaius, and knowing Merlin probably Gwen as well) wasn’t his idea in the first place. Arthur watches as Merlin searches the room for his tunic and neckerchief, eventually finding them half hidden beneath the bed. He turns away quickly when Merlin looks up and catches Arthur’s eyes on him.

Arthur pulls on his boots and grabs his sword. “Let’s go then,” he says, and leaves his chambers, not turning once to see if Merlin has decided to follow.

**

Arthur, for his part, has searching the grounds down to a science. The thought of doing it again is almost a comfort to Arthur in a time of crisis. Something goes wrong, search every room in the castle. Usually his search comes up empty, but this time he thinks it’s worth a try.

He employs the aid of only a few of his most trusted men. Their search is discrete, no busting into people’s rooms and demanding the right to turn them upside down. The point is not to have word get back to his father. Frankly, Arthur still isn’t entirely convinced that there is any threat at all, but Merlin insists that there is, and that it is something that they handle themselves. For now, Arthur is willing to take Merlin’s advice in the matter.

Arthur spends two days searching the castle grounds. Merlin, who is supposed to be researching the history of the castle or something, doesn’t stop following him. Arthur tries to explain that now that he understands the threat he doesn’t need to be constantly watched, and Merlin agrees to his face, but later that day Arthur sees him standing behind a column in the courtyard. Arthur rolls his eyes at Merlin and then adjusts his coat. The entire thing has gone beyond ridiculous. Merlin knows that Arthur knows he’s there. There’s absolutely no reason to hide anymore, but Merlin seems convinced that his presence should remain undetected, lest whoever is doing this realizes they are on to him or her. Arthur is pretty sure that if whoever it might be is smart enough to enchant the castle to kill Arthur, then they are smart enough to see Merlin standing behind a sign post.

One of his men notices Merlin early in the afternoon and nudges Arthur, his voice low as he points out ‘that scrawny idiot boy of yours’. Under normal circumstances Arthur would probably agree, but now, knowing that Merlin honestly thinks that he is somehow helping, Arthur instead defends his servant, essentially telling the guard to bugger off. Frankly, Merlin is more loyal to Arthur than the guard ever will be, and Arthur is tired of the charade of lying when Merlin is in earshot just to see what he can get away with.

Later in the castle alone, he rounds a corner to find Merlin waiting for him.

“There you are,” Arthur says, ready to tell Merlin that the search has been fruitless, that they need a new plan. He gets none of this out, however, because Merlin, after a series of nervous gestures during which Merlin seems unsure of what to do with his hands, leans in and kisses Arthur. His hands eventually find their place holding Arthur steady. It’s a short kiss but full of promise and when Merlin pulls away, checking the hall to make sure they are still alone, he seems visibly affected by it.

Arthur is certainly affected by it. He wipes a hand across his mouth, straightens his clothing.

“What was that for?” he asks. It’s a stupid question. His voice sounds shaky and he clears his throat, forces a cough and tries to recover.

“Nothing,” Merlin shrugs, visibly clamming up. “I shouldn’t have done – it wasn’t anything.”

Arthur shrugs, nods. He thinks he can guess the answer anyway, that Merlin heard the things that Arthur said to the guard that morning. That Merlin, so used to Arthur trumpeting off a list of Merlin’s shortcomings when provoked, was taken by surprise to hear exactly the opposite. He thinks about reminding Merlin that he’s known for some time that Merlin was following him, that a good number of the shortcomings that Arthur has been discussing so loudly are completely fabricated. He wonders if it will earn him another kiss like that.

Arthur is about to try his luck when something shifts in the hallway, the unmistakable sound of stone sliding against stone.

“What was that?” Arthur asks, forgetting about any confessions he may have been planning to make moments earlier.

“I’m not sure,” Merlin says. He starts walking and Arthur follows.

“Didn’t find anything,” Arthur notes. “The guards are fanning out into the town. Not searching, just keeping an eye out.” If Arthur starts searching the village his father will certainly hear about it in a matter of hours. He’s probably already heard about Arthur’s castle rounds.

Merlin doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look like he’s paying attention to Arthur anymore. His face is drawn as though he’s concentrating hard on something.

“What’s wrong with you?” Arthur asks.

“I’m trying to listen,” Merlin says.

Arthur shuts his mouth and tries to listen as well. The castle is silent.

“You must have better ears than I do,” Arthur says after a moment. “Bigger, certainly.”

“Shut up,” Merlin says, and then Arthur hears it. That same sound, stone sliding against stone, except that this time it’s coming from farther down the hallway. Merlin picks up his pace.

“What _is_ that?” Arthur asks again.

Merlin starts running and Arthur follows. They are about to round a corner that Arthur knows leads to a dead end, when Arthur’s foot catches and he falls, landing face first on the stone floor of the hallway.

Arthur curses and starts pushing himself up and then Merlin is there, hands all over the place, checking to make sure that Arthur isn’t hurt.

“I’m fine,” Arthur says and pushes Merlin’s hands away. “I’m fine.”

Arthur leans forward to find what it was that caused him to trip. He notices it immediately. One of the stones in the floor is raised two inches above the rest.

“Look at this,” Arthur says, leaning in closer. Merlin crouches down beside him so Arthur can feel Merlin’s breath on his neck.

“What?” Merlin asks.

The stone is scratched on the edges, new looking indentations that leave a layer of rock dust on Arthur’s finger when he runs it across them.

Merlin raises his eyebrows, and Arthur thinks he looks a bit too smug about the whole thing.

“Did you ever consider,” Arthur asks, “that maybe I’m just not that coordinated?”

“Not really,” Merlin says, and rubs the rock dust from Arthur’s fingers.

“Or,” Arthur continues. “That maybe _your_ lack of coordination is rubbing off on me and this entire thing is your fault?”

“Nah,” Merlin says, though he’s stopped smiling, and is instead staring intensely at the displaced stone.

“What is it now?”

Merlin shakes his head and stands, reaching out a hand to help Arthur up.

“You know,” Arthur says. “If the castle is trying to kill me, it’s doing a pretty lousy job. Tripping me? I’m starting to think maybe the castle is just trying to humiliate me.”

Merlin isn’t paying attention to him at all. In fact, Merlin has returned to staring at the damn stone.

“It’s not going anywhere,” Arthur points out in an attempt to snap Merlin out of it.

It works, sort of, in that it at least gets Merlin to look up at him. Merlin brushes some dust off Arthur’s sleeve and then says, “I almost forgot. I promised Gaius I would help him with – with some deliveries. I’d better get going.”

“Merlin,” Arthur starts, but Merlin is already running off back in the direction that they came. Arthur makes a note to speak to Gaius about Merlin’s priorities, kicks at the stone that tripped him, and heads back toward his chambers.

**

Arthur has become so accustomed to Merlin following him around, that when Merlin suddenly stops all together, Arthur is almost tempted to demand why. He is about to stalk to Merlin’s quarters and demand an explanation when he’s hit in the back of the head with a sense of reason. He was, after all, the one who told Merlin to stop with all of his nonsense. He couldn’t now reprimand Merlin for doing exactly what he’d asked him to do.

Arthur forces himself to let it go. Things are quiet in the castle and when Merlin doesn’t show up one morning, Arthur does something that he’s never done before, he gives Merlin the benefit of the doubt, and lets Merlin do whatever it is he needs to do that’s resulting in the shirking of his other responsibilities. Arthur assumes that Merlin is tending to something for Gaius, and makes a note once again to speak with Gaius about overworking Merlin. Arthur should be Merlin’s first priority, not fetching ingredients for the physician’s ointments.

Arthur dresses himself and carefully goes about his business, watching where he steps and keeping an eye out for anything that may fall. He feels silly being so wary, and down right ridiculous when Morgana taps his shoulder and he jumps in surprise.

“What are you concentrating so hard on?” she asks. “You should be careful. You might hurt yourself.”

“That’s what I’m trying to avoid,” Arthur grumbles.

“Have you seen Merlin?” Morgana asks then, one eyebrow raised. “I’d like to ask his help with something.”

“Merlin works for _me_ , you know,” Arthur points out. “Not for you, or Gwen, or Gaius.”

“So where is he?” Morgana presses.

Arthur throws up his hands. “How the hell should I know?” he asks and storms off, nearly tripping over a pile of wood.

Merlin does not turn up at all that day, and when Merlin is nowhere to be found the next morning either, Arthur storms to the physician’s tower. He stalks past a sputtering Gaius and directly into Merlin’s room where he finds Merlin curled up on his bed reading a book.

Arthur looks around at the disarray of the room, sets his hands on his hips and looks down at Merlin.

“Are you ill?” he asks.

Merlin’s mouth is hanging open as he looks up at Arthur.

“Do you have some contagious disease?” Arthur presses.

“No,” Merlin says after a moment.

“Good. Then do you mind explaining to me why you have stopped doing your _job_? The castle might have killed me, and you’d have no idea because you’re up here _reading_.”

“I’m still – we have a new theory,” Merlin says, standing from the bed and setting the book aside, practically shoving it beneath the blankets of the bed. He gestures toward where Gaius is standing in the doorway. Arthur turns and Gaius raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

“Merlin tells me that your mishaps only seem to occur when he is around,” Gaius says.

“So?”

“So we now suspect that someone hasn’t simply cursed the castle to kill you. They may have cursed the castle to kill you and frame Merlin.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Arthur says, dismissing the idea immediately. Why would anyone even care enough to try to harm Merlin?

“Did anything happen to you yesterday though?” Merlin asks. “Did you trip, slip? Did anything fall or break?”

“No,” Arthur says, and Merlin just nods.

“But that doesn’t mean anything,” Arthur protests. “It’s one day. I haven’t been having a near calamitous accident every day.”

Arthur catches the look that Merlin shoots Gaius. It is a look of disbelief, the look Merlin gets when he feels Arthur is being particularly pompous and ungrateful. Arthur opens his mouth to retort but Gaius cuts in before Arthur can pick a fight.

“Which is why we think Merlin needs to stay away from you for longer than that,” Gaius says.

“How long?” Arthur demands.

“A week,” Merlin says.

“A week?! You planned to hide out in here for a week and neither of you thought to check this with me first?”

Gaius shrugs as if to say ‘I’m an old man. Can old men really be expected to think of everything?’

“This is unacceptable,” Arthur says.

“But what if we’re right,” Merlin says. “What if I’m the reason for all of this?”

“Merlin,” Arthur sighs. Merlin’s staring up at him, imploring him to go along with it all, and Arthur can’t help but wonder if he’s the reason for all of _this_ , if maybe Merlin just needs a break from him. Merlin must have decided that he went too far when he kissed Arthur, that Arthur kissing him was one thing, but Merlin doing the same was out of bounds. Arthur opens his mouth to assure him otherwise, and then remembers Gaius standing in the doorway.

“You really believe that your presence may be connected to the events of the last few weeks?” Arthur asks, searching Merlin’s face for confirmation of his doubts.

“Yes,” Merlin says. “I really do.” Merlin’s face is open and honest and he reaches out to touch Arthur’s sleeve before thinking better of it and pulling away a little too quickly.

Arthur stares at a ball of dust on Merlin’s floor, purses his lips, and comes to a decision. “All right,” he says. “We’ll test this new theory. You have the week off.”

Merlin smiles and nods, and Arthur has to look away from the flash of teeth.

“Stay quiet and out of sight. Starting now, you’re officially ill.”

**

Arthur wakes up and dresses himself, throws another log on the fire and stares at it for a while before pulling on his boots and going out in search of food. He runs into Gwen in the hallway, carrying Morgana’s breakfast.

Gwen frowns as Arthur talks her into handing over the tray.

“Where’s Merlin?” she asks once he finally shuts his mouth, the tray of food securely in his arms.

“Contagious disease,” Arthur says. “He’s in seclusion.”

“You’re serious?” Gwen asks, suddenly horrified, her mouth hanging open.

“I am,” Arthur agrees. “I’d stay away if I were you. Wouldn’t want to catch anything. Nasty stuff. Skin peeling and pustules all over.”

Gwen just gapes at him.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” Arthur assures her. “Gaius will figure out a cure in no time.”

“Is it – is it fatal?”

“I doubt it,” Arthur shrugs and takes a bite of Morgana’s bread. Gwen is looking at him now as though she can’t believe what an unfeeling brut her future king is. Arthur forces himself not to crack a smile, instead, completely serious, he says, “You know, if you happen to have the time, maybe you could bring me supper tonight as well.”

Gwen looks ready to tell him off, but she bites her tongue, mumbles a polite “yes, sire,” wishes Merlin well, and then turns on her heel and heads back toward the kitchens.

**

“What’s wrong with Merlin?” Morgana demands the following afternoon.

“Nothing,” Arthur says. “He’s fine. He’ll be driving us all nuts by this time next week.”

“You told Gwen he might be dying of a contagious illness. When we went to check on him Gaius lied and said he wasn’t there.”

“Maybe he wasn’t there,” Arthur suggests.

“If you get him killed, I swear, I’ll –“

“If _I_ get him killed?” Arthur cuts in.

“You know he’d do anything for you,” Morgana accuses. “You know it and you take advantage of it and one of these days you’ll get Merlin in trouble for it.”

“He’s sick,” Arthur says. “It’s not like I’ve got him off battling dragons! I gave him the week off to get well and he left the castle. He’ll be back.”

Morgana glares at him and then she bares her teeth and says “He better be” before stalking off in the opposite direction.

Arthur is running through training exercises with his men when he suddenly starts to worry that maybe Merlin really _has_ left Camelot. Reason tells him that Gaius is just doing his job, lying to Gwen and Morgana to keep up the charade, but Arthur sees little reason why Gaius would think that he should bother to lie to them in this instance, would probably figure it was just easier to tell them the truth. It’s not like it would ruin the plan. He leaves the practice field early, storming up to the tower with his sword still in hand. He doesn’t bother to knock at the door, just storms in, shouts for Gaius.

“What’s happened now?” Gaius asks, from a ledge up above Arthur’s head. He’s holding a pile of books in his arms.

“Where’s Merlin?” Arthur demands.

Gaius frowns at him and he seems to be taking an age to respond.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouts, and Gaius is halfway down the stairs when he stops and says, “Merlin is in his room, but I don’t think –“

Arthur doesn’t wait for him to finish, barges into Merlin’s room instead and says, “Did you leave the castle today?”

Merlin’s mouth is hanging open. The bed seems to have become a makeshift table, two chairs around it, Merlin sitting in one of them. He’s surrounded by books and has one open in his lap, that he snaps shut as soon as Arthur enters the room.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin asks, holding the book tight to his chest.

“Morgana said you’d left the castle.”

Merlin frowns at him. “I did leave the castle.”

“And I told Gwen that you had a contagious illness and were in seclusion. Where did you go?”

“You told Gwen what? Why?”

Arthur doesn’t answer, instead reaches for one of the books from the bed. “What is all this?”

Merlin lets him grab the book, but pushes several of the others farther away from Arthur. As though Arthur is suddenly going to become so interested in whatever drivel Merlin’s been reading that he’ll demand to borrow them all and never return them or something.

“Gaius and I have been researching,” Merlin explains, and now Arthur is sure he’s not going to be interested in Merlin’s reading materials.

Arthur looks down at the book he’s holding. “’Magical Beasts of the Realm,’” he reads. “Magical beasts?”

“Magic rats, maybe,” Merlin suggests, and smiles to show that it’s a joke. “You know, you really shouldn’t be here.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and tosses the book back down on Merlin’s bed. The book hits the bed and then slides off the edge, landing hard on Arthur’s foot.

It hurts and Merlin smirks before he can stop himself and Arthur, in an attempt to hold onto _some_ dignity, kicks the book and storms out of the room.

**

The week passes without incident. Arthur still suspects, a full seven days later, that the plan may have been invented as a way for Merlin to have space away from Arthur.

When Merlin arrives at his chambers precisely a week after he stopped arriving, things are quiet, awkward between them. Merlin keeps managing to be in precisely the wrong place at the wrong time, stumbles away from Arthur, starts apologizing before he’s even done anything wrong.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, finally. His voice is stern, unamused.

Merlin pauses, looks up, his eyes meeting Arthur’s for just a moment before he just as quickly looks away.

“I did a lot of thinking,” Merlin starts, staring at the wall. “And – “

“Me too,” Arthur says, cutting him off. He needs to say this. Needs to get it out before Merlin has a chance to stomp all over him, can sense that it‘s coming. “Listen, Merlin. Things got a little strange before. I know that. I didn’t mean to – I overstepped, and well – I guess, I’m sorry for that.”

“You are?” Merlin asks, turning back from the wall. He looks confused.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I am capable of apologizing, Merlin. You don’t need to act so surprised.”

“No,” Merlin says. If it‘s possible his shoulders slump even further than usual. “No, I know you are. Um, thank you.”

Arthur frowns, looks Merlin up and down and then says, “You’re welcome.”

Merlin doesn’t seem as relieved as Arthur expected.

“What was it that you were planning to say?” Arthur asks.

“Nothing,” Merlin says. “It was - I was going to say the same thing that you said. Not that _you_ overstepped, of course, just that - ”

“I did overstep,” Arthur says. He doesn’t need to sit here and listen to Merlin stumbling over ways to assure him that he’s never wrong.

“Yeah,” Merlin says. “Well, me too.”

Arthur stares down into his breakfast, pokes at it.

“What is this?” he asks. He doesn’t want to talk about them anymore, doesn’t want to examine why the conversation is upsetting to him.

Merlin peers over his shoulder at the blobs of meat sitting in a thick broth.

“I’m not sure,” Merlin admits.

Arthur sighs and lifts the spoon to his mouth.

**

Arthur knows that this is the real test. Merlin will stick by him today. A week without loose brick work or falling beams, and today is the real test.

The morning passes, awkward but without incident.

Merlin is distracted, jumpy, and finally Arthur stops short as they’re walking through the market. Merlin walks into his back and Arthur turns quick, grabs Merlin’s shoulders, pushes him upright.

“Everything’s back to normal, Merlin,” Arthur assures him. “I can feel it. Can’t you?”

“I don‘t know,” Merlin says, and looks away.

Arthur really does feel it though. Maybe this whole thing was him this entire time. He let himself get so preoccupied that he was careless. That must be it. There’s no magic here at all. Just a servant’s overactive imagina -

“Look out,” someone shouts, and Arthur looks up in time to see a piece of scaffolding falling

As Arthur watches, the scaffolding appears to pause in mid air, just long enough for Arthur to stumble backward out of the way. The scaffolding crashes to the ground a few feet from where Arthur now stands. He turns to stare open mouthed at Merlin. Merlin has his hands in the air, as though he’d planned to somehow save Arthur by catching the falling scaffolding. Merlin looks ridiculous and Arthur wants to hug him and shove him for being such an idiot all at once.

“That was lucky,” Arthur says. Merlin is pale, staring at him.

One of Arthur’s men is staring too, but not at Arthur, he’s staring at an ax in the ground among the broken scaffolding, the blade sliced neatly into the dirt road.

**

“It’s me,” Merlin says as soon as they’re in Arthur’s chambers with the door shut. “It didn’t happen when I wasn’t around and now it’s happening again. It’s clearly me. Someone is trying to kill you and make it look like I did it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. How could falling scaffolding possibly be blamed on you?” Arthur asks. He sits down, hoping that his stillness will help Merlin to settle down, stop his pacing. “You didn’t even touch it.”

Merlin leans on the table, leans in toward Arthur and opens his mouth to respond just as some of Arthur’s men throw open the door with a bang and charge into the room.

Merlin springs away from Arthur, straightens his clothing and clears his throat as though they’d just been caught pawing at each other, tongues down each others throats. Arthur glares at Merlin, then clears his throat and turns the glare on his men.

“What is it?” he demands, standing from his chair.

“We’ve come for Merlin,” the larger of the two oafs, Serrick, says. The other steps forward and seizes Merlin’s right arm.

“Why?” Merlin asks.

“Why?” Arthur repeats and moves out from behind the table to step in between Merlin and his man.

“He’s been accused of sorcery, my lord,” Serrick says, looking at a point on the wall somewhere behind Arthur’s head.

“Sorcery,” Arthur repeats. “Merlin?”

“Sorcery,” the guard confirms. “And plotting against your life.”

Arthur turns back to Merlin, who shakes his head, helpless, and says, “Arthur, I –“ before the words seem to die in his throat.

“Why wasn’t I informed of this? Who ordered the arrest?” Arthur demands.

“The king, sire.”

Arthur nods, looks away. Merlin accused of sorcery. There’s only one way this can go.

“Let’s go,” Arthur says. He takes Merlin’s arm and leads him from the room

**

His father barely looks up as Arthur comes into the room, Merlin and the two guards in tow.

“Father,” Arthur starts. “Merlin - “

“He’s been seen practicing magic,” his father interrupts, simply. He has papers spread in front of him and he turns one over now before he continues. “There were several witnesses.”

“When?” Arthur demands.

“This afternoon in the marketplace.”

That was what Merlin had meant this whole time. Someone was trying to make it seem as though Merlin was plotting against Arthur, but not by tripping him or knocking him down or pushing over some scaffolding. Merlin never touched the scaffolding, but he was there, hands raised in the air right after it fell.

“This is insane,” Arthur sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Father, I was _there_. A scaffolding fell, that was all. Merlin is my servant. He’s been attending to me. If he has been practicing magic I would know about it.”

“Can you prove his innocence?” His father asks, looking up finally from his work. His eyes rest on Merlin for just a moment before coming to Arthur

Arthur opens his mouth, then takes in his father’s expression, raised eyebrows, impatient set of the mouth. Arthur pulls out a chair to sit down at the table. He too glances back at Merlin. Merlin shakes his head slightly but Arthur ignores him, turns to his father and speaks.

“There is magic involved,” Arthur admits. “For the last several weeks I’ve been having - well, accidents. Tripping, things falling, that beam in my chambers.”

“Go on,” his father says.

“We - Gaius, Merlin and I - think it’s an enchantment of some sort. Someone is trying to injure me, humiliate me, and - “

“And Merlin is the one who has put this enchantment in place,” his father concludes.

“No,” Arthur says, slaps his hand down on the table. His father glares. “No, Merlin can hardly polish a boot, let alone enchant a castle to kill a prince.”

“So this is why you’ve been having men patrol the castle, the town?”

“Yes,” Arthur says.

“Without my permission.”

“Yes,” Arthur says again. “We -” He pauses when his father looks up. Better not to let on that he took the advice of a physician and manservant. “I,“ Arthur amended. “I thought it best that I try to get to the bottom of this without disrupting your busy schedule.”

“Nothing that you’ve told me proves that this boy is innocent,” his father concludes.

“Nothing I’ve told you proves that he’s guilty,” Arthur retorts.

“Watch your tongue,” his father snaps. “I have three witnesses who have testified to seeing Merlin topple the scaffolding. They saw an ax pierce the ground precisely where you stood. Take him away.”

The men tighten their grip on Merlin’s arms, turn toward the door. Arthur stands, starts to follow them out. Merlin hasn’t said a word, hasn’t tried to defend himself. No one’s asked him to. No one thinks it would help.

“Wait for me in the corridor,” Arthur says to Serrick. He needs another moment alone with his father.

Serrick nods and Arthur shuts the large doors behind them. He turns back into the room and says, “Father, this is absurd. Have you _met_ Merlin?”

Uther sighs. “What I think of Merlin‘s day to day tomfoolery is irrelevant.”

Arthur crosses the room, leans over the table close to his father.

“Merlin is loyal to me. He’s my friend.”

“He is a sorcerer,” his father insists. “A traitor.”

“That’s not possible,” Arthur says, shakes his head, refuses to believe it.

“You’re young,” his father says. “One day you’ll come to learn that _anything_ is possible. The sorcerer will be executed in two days. I will hear nothing more on the matter.”

“ _Merlin_ , father,” Arthur says, can’t stand hearing the king reduce Merlin to ‘the sorcerer’.

“Yes, Arthur,” his father agrees. “ _Merlin_ will be executed in two days. Now leave me.”

Arthur opens his mouth, wants to fight harder, doesn’t care if his father threatens to throw him in the stocks, into a cell beside Merlin for insubordination. Merlin isn’t trying to kill him. Merlin isn’t capable -

It isn’t a good argument. Arthur mocks, yes, and it is true that Merlin is an _awful_ manservant, but he is loyal. Sometimes he is clever. Once in a while he surprises Arthur. But none of it matters. It doesn’t matter if Merlin is intelligent enough, capable, of magic. It doesn’t matter because he isn’t a sorcerer. He isn’t trying to hurt Arthur.

And the only way to get Arthur’s father to believe this is to _prove it_.

**

“Take him down to the dungeon,” Arthur says, trying to hide the defeat in his voice as he rejoins his men in the corridor.

“Arthur,” Merlin starts. He strains against the arms of the men, not hard, just enough so it isn‘t easy for them to hold him.

“You’re to be executed in two days,” Arthur informs him, his words short and hard. Merlin takes the hint, shuts up, stops pulling. Arthur just needs to think about what to do next. They need to get to the bottom of this, fast. He needs to talk to Gaius, talk to Merlin alone.

They’re halfway to the dungeon when Arthur feels something shift, when the castle seems to emit a low growl.

“What’s that?” Serrick asks, and then it happens again.

Stone scrapes against stone, loud and sudden, and then a large block breaks apart, comes loose from the base of the window they‘re passing. Arthur’s men trip over the rubble, fall into Arthur and Merlin and send them sprawling to the floor.

“Watch it,” the other man - Arthur’s been trying for an hour to remember his name - says and pushes at Serrick.

There’s another noise, a shifting rocking sound, and Arthur looks up just in time to see Merlin’s eyes flash. Not with fear or panic. Not with any expression Arthur’s ever seen from Merlin. Merlin’s eyes flash an unnaturally bright shade of yellow, a colour that Arthur has learned is only ever associated with one thing.

Merlin’s hand is out, extended toward a large stone gargoyle that is about to fall on Arthur. Arthur swears and starts to move, then freezes as the gargoyle pauses at an unnatural angle before it returns to an upright position on its pedestal.

“Did you see that?” Serrick asks. Arthur glances back. Both of his men are staring at the statue. Neither of them seem to realize that it was Merlin who had righted it.

Arthur swings back to stare at Merlin. Merlin’s copying the others, looking up at the gargoyle, but he looks back when he feels Arthur watching him.

“What?” Merlin asks.

“You -” Arthur starts and watches Merlin’s eyes go wide as he realizes that Arthur’s seen everything.

Magic.

His father, the witnesses. Everyone was right. Of all the people in the entire kingdom, _Merlin_ is a warlock.

Merlin opens his mouth, surely ready to say something completely stupid, something completely dangerous. The movement pushes Arthur out of his trance and without thinking he reaches out, pushes at Merlin. Merlin understands instantly and scrambles to his feet.

“Hey,” Serrick says, realizing that their prisoner is free and on his feet while they’re still gaping at an unmoving statue. “Hey!”

Go, Arthur urges silently, wills Merlin to just _move_ already.

For once Merlin doesn’t need to be told twice.

He runs.


	2. The Fall

Arthur watches in disbelief as Merlin disappears around the turn at the end of the corridor.

“He’s getting away!” Serrick shouts. He pushes against Arthur, pushes at his nameless partner, can’t seem to find his footing and falls again to his knee.

Finally, with Merlin out of sight, Arthur’s brain kicks into gear again. He moves, shoves Serrick away from him and stands, knocking the other man’s hand away when he reaches out to help.

“Sound the alarm,” Arthur says. His voice sounds hard, stony.

The search begins in the castle. Merlin isn’t a complete idiot. He won’t be hiding here, but it makes the most sense to start here. And then there is the part that Arthur isn’t ready to admit to himself quite yet: it may give Merlin more time.

Warlock. Sorcerer. Wizard. Magician.

Arthur can’t wrap his head around it.

He should be furious. He should feel betrayed. He thinks maybe it explains everything. The kisses and the stangeness between them. Maybe it was Merlin all along. Maybe Arthur has merely been a puppet forced to dance on Merlin’s strings since Merlin’s arrival at Camelot.

Maybe Merlin is guilty of everything. All of this.

It’s in the back of his mind even as Arthur purposely slows the pace of his search, even as he worries that they’ll find Merlin around every corner, as he holds his breath when he enters every unsearched room.

**

When Arthur bursts into Gaius’s rooms, Gaius doesn’t stand, just sits at his rickety old table and says, “He isn’t here.”

“You know,” Arthur says. He’s not sure if he means the arrest or the magic.

“I’ve heard,” Gaius says, assuming Arthur means the arrest.

Arthur moves to stand in front of Gaius. His posture is straight, formal, unfeeling. “Do you know where he may have gone? If you know, you must tell me. You know the punishment for harboring a traitor.”

“I don’t know,” Gaius says. “He’s very small. He could be hiding anywhere.”

Arthur smiles despite himself. It really isn’t the time for such jokes.

He continues his search, striding across the room and throwing open the door to Merlin’s chambers, unsurprised to find the room empty and undisturbed. Merlin didn’t come back for anything.

Gaius is still sitting at the table when Arthur returns.

Arthur pauses, leans against the wood of the table, touches the half empty bottles strewn about.

“You don’t think Merlin is actually responsible for this enchantment, do you, Gaius?”

“No,” Gaius says, looks up and meets Arthur‘s eyes. “I think Merlin would do everything in his power to make sure that you do not come to harm, my lord.”

Arthur snorts, almost makes a comment about ‘everything in Merlin’s power’, but he knows now. He knows that he’s always underestimated Merlin, that Merlin is capable of so much more than Arthur has ever guessed.

Everything in his power.

“He won’t be executed for this,” Arthur says, assuring Gaius and admitting it, finally, to himself. Arthur isn’t angry, not really, and he doesn’t feel betrayed. He doesn’t believe that Merlin’s been manipulative with him, he doesn’t believe that Merlin craves power. There is a reason Merlin kept this from him and it is a good one.

“You’ll need to get to the bottom of this enchantment to have any hope of convincing your father of Merlin’s innocence,” Gaius points out.

“I know,” Arthur agrees “You’ve been researching, haven’t you? All of those books you had around. What have you learned?”

“Not much,” Gaius admits. “The events haven’t been frequent enough for us to get a handle on the patterns. I only know that there is magic involved. Merlin - pardon me for admitting this - searched your chambers twice for any sort of poultice or charm that could link you to the spell, but he’s found nothing.”

“He searched my chambers,” Arthur repeats.

“Twice,” Gaius confirms.

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, reminds himself that Merlin is only trying to help him. Merlin would do anything in his power.

“I’m afraid that unless the strange occurrences continue, we’ve come to a dead end,” Gaius says. “And with Merlin accused -” He shrugs helplessly.

Arthur leans in close to Gauis and with his voice low, he says, “My men won’t find him. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll make time.”

**

It’s late afternoon before the search expands into the forest. Arthur is wary, isn’t entirely convinced that Merlin is capable of avoiding detection.

“You, men,” Arthur directs. “Check by the stream. You, head toward the caves.”

Once his men have dispersed Arthur moves straight into the woods, toward an area of large rocky outcrops, a labyrinth of thick trees and impermeable stone. It isn’t as open as the stream and less obvious than the caves. If Arthur wanted to hide yet stay relatively close to the castle, this is where he would go.

“Merlin,” Arthur hisses. He hopes that Merlin isn’t actually close enough to hear him, not yet. He moves forward, quietly calls to Merlin periodically. He’s within the outcrops now and he calls out a little louder. He calls twice more before he hears a noise off to his right and turns in that direction.

“I’m alone,” Arthur says, unsure if he’s speaking to Merlin or a carelessly loud squirrel.

“Over here,” Merlin says, and Arthur turns toward his voice.

Merlin emerges from a fissure between two outcrops, large enough for a man to hide comfortably within. Arthur nods in approval. It’ll work for now.

“About what you saw,” Merlin starts immediately. He has his hands up in surrender and his expression is open, pleading.

“I didn’t see anything,” Arthur says immediately, shakes his head. Arthur isn’t sure yet what to think, what to say. They can discuss this later, once Merlin’s head is off the block. For now they must focus on the task at hand. They must clear Merlin‘s name.

“Let me explain,” Merlin continues as though Arthur hasn’t spoken at all.

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupts. “It’s okay. I didn’t see anything.”

“You didn’t,” Merlin repeats.

“No,” Arthur says, slowly, eyebrows raised.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Arthur says. “Now can we please stop prattling on about this and try to figure out who is behind it all? Or do you like your new home in the woods?”

“Even though - you don’t think it was me?” Merlin asks, and Arthur watches as Merlin‘s shoulders visibly relax.

“Why would you be trying to kill me?” Arthur scoffs.

It finally seems to sink in then that Arthur doesn’t plan to arrest Merlin at all and Merlin grins, ducks his head and says, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re pompous, spoiled, self-centered - “

“Hey, now.”

“Because I’ve seen you purposely step in horse dung just so I’d have to clean and polish your boots. Again.”

Arthur laughs. “So you _do_ prefer your new home in the woods.”

Merlin sniffs, looks around, then turns back to Arthur.

“Nah,” he says. “Too damp. Smells funny.”

There’s a noise, movement in the direction of the stream, and Arthur lowers his voice and gets to the point. “Listen. I can’t stay now. I sent my men to the stream but it won’t take them long to realize that you aren’t there.”

“So you really aren’t going to turn me in,” Merlin confirms.

“For the millionth time, Merlin. I don’t see why I would,” Arthur says.

Merlin smiles, shakes his head.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Merlin says. “I just wasn’t sure - I thought you‘d be angry.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Arthur says. “I am angry. Now stay close and I’ll return after nightfall. We need a plan.”

Merlin’s still smiling at him and Arthur huffs a little, shoves at Merlin’s shoulder. The silly grinning can wait until Merlin’s name is cleared. Happiness is premature. Even so, Arthur finds it contagious, catches himself smiling too. He reaches out and shoves Merlin once more for good measure.

“Give me your scarf,” Arthur demands.

“What for?” Merlin asks, but he pulls it loose from his neck and hands it to Arthur.

Arthur shoves in into his tunic, hidden from sight.

“Don’t get caught,” Arthur says, and then he takes his leave of Merlin and heads back toward the stream.

**

Arthur and his men fan out into the forest. When they reach the borders of his father’s land, Arthur drops Merlin’s neckerchief to the ground, kicks at the dead leaves that blanket the forest floor until the neckerchief is partially concealed. He moves a short distance away and then calls Sir Leon to his side.

“How thoroughly did your men search the cave?” Arthur asks.

“There was no sign of Merlin there,” Leon assures him. He isn’t looking at Arthur, is squinting as he looks past him instead.

“Leon,” Arthur says, feigns annoyance.

“Sire,” Leon says absently. He steps past Arthur, walks the short distance to the neckerchief and picks it up. He pulls the fabric through his fingers and then, when Arthur joins him, Leon hands the strip of red fabric to Arthur.

“It’s Merlin’s,” Arthur confirms.

“He’s made it out of Camelot,” Leon notes.

Leon doesn’t seem overly disappointed by this news. Somehow, the fact that his trusted knights don’t believe in Merlin’s guilt, somehow it makes a difference to Arthur.

“Call off the men,” Arthur orders.

**

His father is furious. He rails on about Arthur’s incompetence, on the incompetence of Arthur’s men to let someone as clumsy and simple as _Merlin_ escape them. He thinks, of course, that this proves Merlin’s guilt.

“The innocent don’t run,” Uther confirms.

It isn’t true. The innocent do run. They run if they know they’ll be killed for something they haven’t done. They run if they know that there is no hope.

**

Merlin and magic. As dusk settles over Camelot, Arthur is still trying to wrap his head around it all.

There’s no telling how strong Merlin might be. Maybe it’s just a little magic. Some moving statues, that’s all. Surely a little magic won’t bring down the entire kingdom. A novice as slow and dimwitted as Merlin surely doesn’t deserve to be executed over this.

Arthur says it often, thinks it, but he’s never been sure if Merlin actually is as much of an idiot as he sometimes seems. Merlin has always had moments where he’s seemed wise, where he’s provided valuable insight and has even shown remarkable bravery.

Arthur understands the threat that his father feels from magic, the feeling that a king’s control can be so easily lost. A king cannot be the most powerful voice when there are those who possess the power of magic.

Arthur thinks of the smile on Leon’s face when he realized that Merlin had escaped beyond their reach. It would be wise, Arthur says, for Merlin to leave Camelot. It would be wise for him to leave and never return. It would be the best thing for Merlin. He can seek company among the druids, find a place where he’ll truly fit, where he won’t be put to death for possession of power.

Arthur twists Merlin’s neckerchief in his hands. He lifts it to his face and breathes it in, then, disgusted with himself, he throws it to the floor.

Yes, Arthur decides. He must convince Merlin to leave. The enchantment will be broken and they can be through with this present fixation, with these ridiculous yearnings. Merlin must leave Camelot and save them both.

**

Arthur waits until well after dark and then he slips from his chambers, through the dark deserted halls of the castle. He slides into dark corners when he hears voices and thinks how ridiculous it is that he, of all people, should be hiding from his own knights. Finally he’s out of the castle, stalking silently through the town.

Alone in the dark of the woods, he lights a torch and then moves quickly, snapping sticks beneath his feet.

They’d concluded at the end of their search that Merlin had left Camelot, that he’d escaped and wouldn’t return. Arthur called his men out of the forest, told them to keep an eye out for Merlin around the village while they went about their usual duties. Now Arthur can walk briskly through the forest without fear of running into his search party, sure he isn‘t being followed. He makes it to the labyrinth of rock and trees in moments and whispers Merlin‘s name.

Arthur navigates the terrain until he finds the fissure where Merlin had been hiding earlier that day. It’s empty now. He presses his hand to the rock and brings his torch forward to peer into the darkness.

He’s about to turn when he hears a noise behind him and he freezes. When he feels the hand on his shoulder, he drops the torch into the dirt and turns. Arthur defends himself instinctively, whipping around and grabbing the offending arm. It isn’t until he has his attacker pushed up against a large boulder, the light from the torch flickering across their faces, that he realizes it’s only Merlin.

“It’s me,“ Merlin says. “It’s just me.“ He throws up his hands in surrender, and Arthur removes his hand from the hilt of his sword, brings it up to curl against Merlin’s neck instead, his thumb at Merlin’s jaw.

Merlin looks up and meets Arthur’s eyes in the dark, just for a moment, a mere second, but it’s long enough. They understand each other and Merlin reaches for Arthur, kisses him.

This time Arthur is pretty sure that he knows what this is for, is pretty sure he knows that Merlin isn’t just doing this because he is in Arthur’s employ. Frankly, Merlin probably doesn’t even need Arthur, doesn’t need this position, is here because - Maybe he is here for the same reason that Arthur is here, standing in the forest kissing his fugitive manservant. Maybe Merlin cares for Arthur, cares what happens to him. Maybe Merlin even _likes_ him.

Merlin’s thin hands press against either side of Arthur’s face, holding him close, his kisses hot and open, trusting Arthur entirely for what Arthur realizes now is probably the first time.

Arthur means to break the kiss, means to steer them back to the issue at hand, but when he opens his mouth, Merlin pushes forward, his tongue pressing inside. Arthur is aroused, has been from the moment Merlin kissed him, but he feels it flare and curl within him as Merlin pushes against him, takes the initiative, steers the moment. Their mouths slide against each other and Arthur could laugh at himself for thinking that Merlin may have used magic to manipulate his feelings in this matter. This isn’t magic. But this kiss, forbidden and wanting and wet, it’s a spell that works far better than any sorcery ever has.

Merlin yanks at Arthur, pulls him closer until the full length of him is pressed against Merlin, pinning him against unyielding stone. Arthur feels Merlin, hard against his thigh, and he shifts, moves his leg closer still. Merlin’s fingers grip hard at Arthur’s shoulders as Merlin rocks against Arthur’s leg.

Arthur keeps close, mouth hungry as it kisses Merlin, as Merlin finds pleasure against Arthur‘s body. Arthur takes one hand from Merlin’s arm, his fingers fumbling with his own belt. He struggles alone for only a brief moment before Merlin catches on, releases Arthur’s shoulders and comes to Arthur’s aid. Merlin, with months of experience helping Arthur undress, has Arthur’s belt unfastened in no time. He lets it fall, Arthur’s sword knocking against his leg as it goes down.

For a brief moment Arthur thinks that this is exactly what an enemy would do, get Arthur vulnerable, strip him of his weapons. He leans back away from Merlin‘s kiss to look at Merlin.

Merlin’s eyes are dark, his face in shadow, illuminated only briefly by the light of the dying torch.

Merlin doesn’t look like he’s plotting anything. Merlin doesn’t look like he could form much of a coherent thought at all at this point, let alone be planning to seduce Arthur only to betray him. Merlin’s hands are at the waist of Arthur’s trousers, his arousal still pressed to Arthur‘s thigh, and when Arthur doesn’t do anything right away, Merlin leans in again and his mouth grazes Arthur’s jaw, his nose bumps against Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur finds Merlin’s mouth again, kisses him as Merlin pushes Arthur’s trousers down his hips. Merlin breaks their kiss so that he can glance down, so that he can look at Arthur now that he‘s exposed. It‘s quiet for a moment except for the heavy sound of their breathing and Arthur feels self-conscious. He‘s about to question Merlin, to ask if everything meets his approval, some other smart remark, but he doesn‘t have a chance. Merlin breaks the moment. His fingers wrap around Arthur, sure and firm, and Arthur’s mouth falls open, his eyes fall shut.

Arthur moans, low and quiet as Merlin’s hand works him, as he continues to thrust against Arthur. Merlin‘s fingers pull pleasure from him, slide over him, around him.

“Like this?” Merlin asks.

Exactly like that, and Arthur grunts and holds harder to Merlin. He’s close and he presses his hand hard to the rock behind Merlin, thrusts through the ring of Merlin’s hand. They kiss again, mouths sliding against each other. Arthur’s mouth misses its mark in the increasingly frantic movement of their bodies and he kisses Merlin’s cheek, his breath hot and wet on Merlin’s skin, and then shifts and finds Merlin’s lips again.

Arthur is loud when release barrels through him, taking him by surprise though it has been building in him forever. Merlin shushes him, tries to kiss Arthur as Arthur buckles against him. The release courses through Arthur so that he’s shaking with it, spent, his entire heart coursing out and onto Merlin’s hand.

Eventually Arthur manages to compose himself and he kisses Merlin again and again, deep and thorough.

It’s Merlin’s turn now and Arthur’s never done this before, not like this, but every touch of Merlin’s fingers ignited a fire within him, every movement increased Arthur’s pleasure, and Arthur is eager to return the favour. Arthur tastes Merlin’s tongue, loves the wet slide of it against his own, loves the promise in the dance of their kiss now that he can concentrate on it and take it in.

Merlin moves desperately against him and Arthur owes Merlin, owes him pleasure in return for pleasure given. Arthur slides a hand between their bodies, cups the bulge at the front of Merlin’s trousers, presses and feels Merlin’s heat through the fabric. Merlin moans and pushes into Arthur’s palm. His fingers clutch at Arthur as he pushes into Arthur’s hand once more, then again, and then he’s shuddering against Arthur, would slump to the ground if not for the pressure of Arthur’s body holding him against the rock.

Arthur holds tightly to Merlin, is disappointed to have it over so quickly, though he’s thrilled by the way that Merlin still jerks just a little in his hand, by Merlin‘s ragged breath against his neck.

When Merlin is able to stand on his own, he looks up and meets Arthur‘s eyes. Arthur takes a step back, releases the pressure on Merlin‘s groin.

“ _Really_ , Merlin,” Arthur says, his tone just slightly exasperated.

Merlin stares at him for a moment, and then his whole face transforms, lights up the dark forest, and he laughs.

**

They walk to the stream, clean off in the cool water there. On their way back to Merlin’s camp, Merlin collects firewood. Arthur sits on a fallen log and waits as Merlin piles the wood and begins to attempt lighting it.

Arthur watches him struggle with the flint for a moment and then says, “Can’t you - don’t you know how to light that?” He doesn’t say the last part, the part that makes the sentence important. Don’t you know how to light that _with magic_?

Merlin stops what he’s doing, stares at the pile of wood for a moment and then says, “Yeah, I do.”

“Well,” Arthur says, and waves a hand indicating that Merlin should proceed.

Merlin looks around as though there might be someone spying on them, waiting for Merlin to agree to do just this sort of thing.

“We’re alone,” Arthur assures him. Truth be told, Arthur is interested. He almost doesn’t believe what he saw in the corridor, could easily be convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him.

Merlin seems unsure for a few more moments, and then eventually he turns back toward the pile of sticks. He raises his hand, palm open toward the pile, and then says a word that Arthur doesn’t recognize. Merlin’s eyes glow in the darkness and the wood bursts into flame, the fire taking hold, flames dancing merrily.

Merlin wipes his hands on his trousers and moves back to sit beside Arthur.

“This is strange,” Arthur admits.

“Yeah,“ Merlin agrees with a sigh.

He’s seen it twice now but he’s still having a hard time wrapping his head around it. Merlin and magic. _Merlin_. He’s been conditioned to believe that magic is inherently evil, that there can be no good in it. He’s never been as passionate in this stance as his father, but even so, it’s difficult to see direct evidence that proves that his father must be wrong. Merlin practices magic and Merlin isn’t evil. Stupid at times, perhaps, clumsy and lazy, infuriating, but certainly not evil.

Arthur came here intending to push Merlin away, convince him to leave. He planned to lie if he had to, tell Merlin that Serrick saw Merlin in the corridor, tell him that there is no way to prove his innocence now. There is nothing Merlin can do but run.

Arthur doesn‘t want to say any of this now. He doesn‘t want Merlin to leave at all.

“I spoke with Gaius this afternoon,” Arthur says, then thinks about it a moment longer and admits, “I don’t know how to get to the bottom of this.”

“I think I have an idea,” Merlin says.

“Really?”

“Sometimes I have ideas,” Merlin retorts. “It’s just that you never listen to them.”

Arthur snorts. If he remembers correctly, he listened when Merlin said that the castle was enchanted. He listened when Merlin told him not to tell his father, to try to figure it out themselves. He listened when Merlin decided to spend a week holed up in his chambers. Arthur’s done nothing _but_ listen to Merlin lately.

“I escaped through the caves,” Merlin continues. “While I was down there I _felt_ something. I think whatever started all of this may be hidden in the tunnels beneath the castle.”

“You felt something,” Arthur repeats.

“Yeah,” Merlin says. “It’s the magic. When I get near someone or something else that has a lot of it, sometimes I can feel it. It’s like the air moves differently.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Arthur asks.

“I don’t tell anyone,” Merlin shrugs.

“But you must talk to someone,” Arthur says. “Gaius surely knows.”

Merlin nods. “Gaius knows. No one else in Camelot.”

“You could have told me,” Arthur says.

“I wasn’t sure,” Merlin admits.

“You could have,” Arthur insists, though honestly he’s not sure he would have listened. He’s not sure he would have taken it so well if Merlin’s life wasn’t already on the line, if they weren’t already so tangled in each other, in this.

Merlin smiles, nods, looks down at the ground.

They’re quiet for a while until eventually Arthur sighs and stands, holds out a hand for Merlin.

“What are we doing?” Merlin asks.

“We’re going to find what you felt in the caves,” Arthur says.

**

The town is quiet as Arthur and Merlin slip through it, heading to the entrance to the vaults that run beneath the castle. They stick to the alleys and the dark corners before finally arriving at the entrance undetected.

Once they’re within the vault, Arthur hands Merlin a torch and Merlin lights it for him with a word.

It’s a handy trick, Arthur must admit.

“This way,” Merlin says, and Arthur follows.

They walk for a while, turning left and right, and Arthur memorizes their route in his head, maps it so that they’ll be able to find their way back, so that he’ll be able to find the location again if he needs to. The castle seems to sigh above them, heavy and sleeping.

“Sometimes when I’m down here it’s almost as though I can feel Camelot breathing,” Arthur says. “As though the castle is alive.”

“It’s not the castle,” Merlin says, absently.

“What?” Arthur asks.

“Never mind,” Merlin says. “We’re close. I can feel it.”

They round a corner and Merlin stops short, says, “There.”

“What?” Arthur asks. He peers ahead and doesn’t see anything. Arthur slips past Merlin, the torch thrust out in front of him. He moves forward and then he sees it, attached to the ceiling of the passageway, a dark orb that appears to grow directly out of the stone above his head.

“What is it?” Arthur asks.

“Be careful,” Merlin warns, but Arthur ignores him and takes a step closer so that he‘s standing directly beneath the sphere. There are markings on the surface and Arthur raises his torch to get a better look.

“Look here,” Arthur says. He reaches out to touch the markings. Two arrowheads that intersect, a circle at their center. “This must be the source.”

“Don’t touch it,” Merlin says.

Arthur ignores Merlin and continues to run his fingers across the sphere. He can feel a small lip where the stone meets the orb and realizes it isn’t a full sphere at all, but a dome with a flat base, fixed to bedrock of the tunnel.

“Arthur,” Merlin says again.

Arthur can just barely get his fingers beneath the edge. He pulls, but the dome doesn’t budge. Its surface is warm to the touch, much warmer than the surrounding stone.

Merlin’s moved forward now to stand beside Arthur, and he peers up at the dome as well.

“It’s warm,” Arthur notes, and Merlin reaches up to press his fingers to test the temperature.

The entire room lights up as soon as Merlin’s fingers brush the surface, the light flashes like lightening and Merlin shouts as they’re both pushed back, thrown against the wall of the tunnel. Arthur looks up, squints in the light. He sees something move and he grabs at Merlin, shouts. The vision is pale and shimmering in the air of the room, but definitely there. A woman, laughing at them.

He’s seen her before.

“I know her,” Arthur says.

“Nimueh,” Merlin breathes. Arthur doesn’t recognize the name, but he’s sure he’s seen the woman before.

The vision fades, the passage goes dark once more.

Arthur stands, helps Merlin to his feet.

“This is it,” Arthur says, excited. He grips Merlin, shakes him a little. “Here is the proof of your innocence.”

“You don’t have to say it that way,” Merlin says. “I’m not really innocent at all, am I?”

“Of course you are,” Arthur says, dismisses Merlin. Arthur’s preoccupied, examining the dome once more. There appears to be water dripping down it now and as Arthur watches, the liquid pools at the dome’s lowest point, then drips, one drip, then another and another onto the floor of the passage. The drops of liquid are black on the brown of the stone.

“We should ask Gaius,” Merlin says.

Arthur nods and begins to lead them back the way they came.

**

Once he’s returned Merlin safely to the forest, Arthur heads straight to the physician’s chambers. Gaius is asleep, which Arthur expects, but he rouses quickly when Arthur bursts into his room.

“Arthur,” Gaius gasps. “What’s happened? Have they caught Merlin?”

“No,” Arthur says. “Merlin is safe. We’ve found the source of the magic.”

“Where?” Gaius asks, immediately awake and alert.

Arthur describes the dome to Gaius, describes the markings upon it, the dripping pool beneath it, and the force of it when Merlin touched it.

Gaius takes all of this in and then, ignoring the task at hand for a moment, asks, “How long have you known? About Merlin?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” Arthur says.

Gaius watches Arthur, reading him, gauging him. Arthur shifts under Gaius’s gaze, self conscious. They don’t have time for this. He’s about to open his mouth to say as much, but Gaius speaks first.

“You’re growing into a great man, Arthur,” Gaius concludes.

Arthur wants to protest. He thinks that if it were really true Arthur wouldn’t have wondered if turning Merlin in might be the right thing to do. Merlin and Gaius wouldn’t have had to keep this from him.

“Thank you,” Arthur says, finally, knows it’s what is expected. “So what is it?”

“What you’ve described isn’t something I’ve encountered before,” Gaius admits. “And the woman. Merlin recognized her as Nimueh?”

“That was the name that he said,” Arthur confirms. He’s bothered that Merlin and Gaius seem to understand the circumstances far better than Arthur does. “I’ve seen her before.”

“Yes,” Gaius agrees. “I believe that you have.” He’s opening a book, flipping through it and shaking his head with each page that passes. He mumbles to himself, turns another page.

Arthur clears his throat and Gaius looks up, raises an eyebrow. Arthur sighs, gives in and sits down at the table beside Gaius, opens another volume and joins in the search.

**

It’s the slowest most boring day of Arthur’s life. Arthur spends hours hunched in the hard chair beside Gaius. His eyes glaze over as he peruses page after page of strange creatures and objects of magic. He leaves periodically to attend to his duties, finds them to be a relief, but he spends every spare moment of the day with Gaius, trying to identify the strange dome beneath the castle.

By early evening Arthur is having a hard time concentrating, finds that he‘s been staring at the same page for half an hour. He sighs, pushes his hair back from his forehead, leans back in his chair.

“Nothing yet?” he asks Gaius.

Gaius grunts and shakes his head and turns a page.

Arthur picks up another book, reads the title, sets it back down. He picks up another. Magical Beasts of the Realm. It‘s one of the books he remembers seeing in Merlin‘s chambers during Merlin‘s week off. The dome isn‘t a beast as far as Arthur can tell and he sets the book aside.

“You know,” Arthur says, just because he can‘t handle the quiet any longer. “The possession of many of these texts could be seen as treason.”

“They are historical,” Gaius says, his voice calm, not rising to Arthur‘s prodding. He doesn’t even look up. “Research and anthologies. There is no book of spells here.”

Gaius is lying. Merlin is learning from somewhere and Arthur isn’t stupid. He knows Gaius must be helping him. Arthur knows little of Gaius’s past, but he does know that Gaius has been a loyal servant to his father for many years, long before magic was outlawed in the kingdom. Not for the first time, Arthur wonders what services Gaius performed for the king in the past.

“There are books in the vaults,” Arthur says. “Maybe they contain the information that we need.”

Gaius raises an eyebrow. “Those books are in the vaults for a reason,” he points out, voice careful now.

“Would this go faster if I were to leave?” Arthur asks finally. He has no doubt that Gaius is in possession of books like those in the vaults, books of spells, books of magic. If Gaius has information that he’s afraid to share with Arthur, information that would help them understand the dome and the enchantment, Arthur will gladly leave so that Gaius can peruse undisturbed and without witness by the son of his king.

“It would go faster if you helped, Sire,” Gaius returns, unruffled.

Arthur sighs again and goes back to the book open in front of him.

It‘s nearing midnight when Arthur turns a page and once again comes face to face with the dome hidden beneath the castle.

“Here it is!” Arthur says. He stands and sets his book atop the one that Gaius has open, points to the illustration. “This is it, but only half of it.”

Gaius peers down at the drawing, seems to take an age to look it over.

“How do we destroy it?” Arthur pushes. He leans close over Gaius’s shoulder. He’s impatient now, ready for all of it to be over. He remembers Merlin, sitting by a fire in the forest, waiting alone while Arthur and Gaius conduct their research. Arthur amends the previous thought. He isn’t ready for all of it to be over, just most of it.

“The Orb of Undun,” Gaius reads. He pauses, his finger marking the first line as though he might lose his place. “I’ve heard of the orb but have never set sight on one myself.”

“How do I destroy it?” Arthur asks again.

“The orb contains powerful magic. When the two halves are separated a field is created between them and the master of the device may lay a curse on those who reside within. The orb cannot be destroyed by magic or by force when the halves are separate. Only the master or the accursed may reassemble the orb and only then may it be destroyed.”

“The other half is somewhere within the castle,” Arthur concludes.

“It would seem so,” Gaius agrees, turning to regard Arthur.

“Wonderful,” Arthur says. He grips Gaius’s shoulders for a moment in thanks and then grabs his sword and takes his leave of the physician’s chambers.

**

He goes straight to the forest. When he comes upon Merlin‘s camp he finds Merlin‘s fire going, but no sign of Merlin.

“Merlin,” he says. Merlin had better just be practicing caution, had better just be out collecting more firewood. The alternative - the alternative is that he’s been caught by Arthur’s men, or worse, by someone else. Arthur pulls his sword.

“Merlin,” Arthur says again, louder. He hears the edge in his own voice and he clears his throat, tells himself not to panic.

“I’m here,” Merlin says, appearing from behind patch of thick trees. “I heard you coming, wasn’t sure.”

They stand together, still for a moment, regarding each other. It’s Merlin, finally, who shrugs, rubs his hands together and moves closer to his fire. Arthur returns his sword to its sheath and follows.

“I’ve spent the day with Gaius,” Arthur says. “We’ve learned how to destroy the orb.”

“What is it?” Merlin asks. He adds a few more sticks to the fire.

“An Orb of Undun,” Arthur says.

“Oh,” Merlin says, nods knowingly.

Arthur squints. “You know of it?”

“Never heard of it,” Merlin says. He grins at Arthur, seems pleased with his little joke.

Arthur gives Merlin a look, and then tells Merlin all that he knows, about the two halves, about the field of power, about the manner in which it must be destroyed.

Merlin takes this in, nods, thoughtful.

“I just need to find the second half,” Arthur concludes.

“That should be easy,“ Merlin says.

“What do you mean?“

“If the orb creates a field between the two pieces, the second half must be somewhere that would encompass the entire castle,” Merlin guesses.

Arthur thinks on this for a moment and then slaps his knee. “The roof. Of course.”

It’s the only other place they haven’t searched. But where on the roof?

“It would be located at the highest point,” Arthur says.

“The turrets at the gate?” Merlin suggests.

Arthur thinks for a moment. The turrets are certainly the highest point, Merlin’s right about that. Arthur shakes his head. “My men are there often. The dome would have been seen. It would have to be somewhere that no one goes.”

There are many turrets and towers, many places to hide something so small. The turrets at the gate are too busy, but the east tower, with its steep conical roof, is nearly as high. As soon as Arthur thinks it, he knows he must be right.

“The roof of the east tower,” Arthur says, his voice sure.

“The east tower is tall,” Merlin says.

“It’s the tallest,” Arthur says. “After the turrets.”

“Taller than the west tower?”

Arthur sees where Merlin is going with this. And he’s right. The east and west towers are the same height. But the east tower seems higher. The east tower seems right.

“It’s on the east tower,” Arthur says, his voice firm.

“All right,” Merlin says. He rubs his hands together. “The east tower.”

Merlin looks like he’s gearing up for an adventure and Arthur raises his eyebrows, regards him. “What’s that? What are you doing?”

Merlin falters, then smiles and says, “I’m going with you.”

Arthur shakes his head.

“There’s no way I can get you through the castle undetected. You’re a fugitive now, Merlin. You won’t have two days if you’re caught. You’ll have two hours before you’re executed.”

Merlin shrugs and Arthur isn’t sure if it’s because he thinks Arthur will be able to absolve him or if Merlin knows that he can easily escape.

“I’ll investigate the roof at first light,” Arthur decides. “You will stay here.”

Arthur stays by Merlin’s fire that evening. They lie beside each other, stare up at the stars over Camelot. Eventually Arthur turns toward Merlin, leans in to kiss him. Arthur is tired, too tired for more than this, but for now it’s enough that Merlin easily kisses him back. It’s good enough to feel how well their mouths fit together, to know that they haven‘t moved past this over the course of the day. It comforts Arthur, to know this, to return to this with Merlin, but it troubles him too. What if what is happening between them is lasting? What if it doesn’t fade in a few days, in a few weeks? Arthur kisses Merlin and thinks of what his father would say if he knew.

“A love spell,” Uther would gasp, his face a mask of horror and fear.

All roads suddenly seem to lead to Merlin’s execution.

**

Arthur looks out one of the uppermost windows in the east tower. It’s the highest point in the castle. After the turrets, anyway. And possibly the west tower. Arthur pushes the pane open and sits on the windowsill. He looks down into the inner ward of the castle, at his men milling about below. It’s a long way down.

Arthur sucks in a large breath, fills his cheeks with it, then lets it out in a heavy sigh. Might as well get it over with. He leans out and eyes the ledge above the window. It isn’t far. It will be easy to hoist himself up to it.

Arthur climbs up onto the sill, then turns, standing. He reaches up to grab hold of the ledge. It‘s as easy as it looks to hoist himself up. He‘s there in a matter of moments. The sloped roof of the tower is steep and Arthur pulls himself up onto the ledge, leans in against the roof, then scans the surface. There is nothing there and he curses and begins to slowly make his way around the tower.

Finally on the north side he spots it. The other half of the orb. It’s fixed flat to the roof several feet further up than Arthur can reach with his feet planted firmly on the ledge. He runs his hands along the plane of the roof, finally finds an edge where his boot may catch. He lifts his leg and tests it. It holds.

Arthur uses the lip to push himself up until finally his hands are gripping the dome. He pulls but it doesn’t budge.

“Come on,” Arthur grunts.

It’s beginning to occur to Arthur how stupid it was to come up here while cursed with some sort of clumsiness spell. On the other hand, if he’s holding the dome he should be out of the range of the curse. But then it’s unclear to Arthur how these things work, it’s unclear if the field can extend past the two halves of the orb, and if so, how far?

Just then the orb seems to hear his doubts, seems to realize the advantage that it has with him and it releases its hold on the roof, surprising Arthur so that he loses his balance and slides down the slope. He braces himself, prays that his feet catch on the ledge. They do, but he hits fast, jarring him so that he loses his balance, starts to fall back. He flails the arm not holding the dome, tries to stabilize himself, but it’s too late. He’s going to fall back, he’s going to plummet to his death. He‘ll be found by a villager, battered and broken at the base of the castle.

Arthur closes his eyes and braces himself for the fall, for the rush of air and unforgiving impact of landing. Then he feels it. A hand at his back, steadying him, pushing him back toward the roof, back onto the ledge. Arthur holds tight to the dome even as he grasps at the roof, presses his face to it. He could kiss its surface now that they’ve been reunited. He stands there, tries to calm down, to slow his heart and take a few deep breaths.

When he feels his heart start to slow just a little, Arthur moves. He slips the orb into the bag he has tied to his belt and then he inches slowly back around toward the open window.

Safely back within the tower, he turns to look out the window. He looks down at the fields and the forest that surrounds Camelot. His heart swells a little, the same way it always does when he pauses to take it all in. One day Arthur may be king of all of this.

He sees movement on the edge of the forest and he pauses, squints, tries to get a better look. He sees a small figure there, standing for just a moment before turning and disappearing into the trees. It’s Merlin, he’s sure. Watching him, saving his life.

Arthur wonders how many times this has happened before with them. How many times and Arthur just didn’t realize, wasn’t aware of what was happening? How many times would Arthur have been hurt, worse, _killed_ , had he not had Merlin at his side?

**

Arthur enters his father’s chambers just as Uther is sitting down to breakfast. Morgana sits at his side. She smiles when she sees him, and Arthur, still feeling a slight thrill from his adventure on the roof, the anticipation of what comes next, smiles back.

“Good morning, Arthur,” his father says. “Do you care to dine with us?”

His father’s voice is cordial, he’s already started to forgive Arthur for the blunder of Merlin’s escape. Arthur wonders who he has to thank for that. He guesses that it must be Morgana. He turns toward her and she looks down at her plate, but he notices her slight nod. He’ll have to thank her when this is over.

“Good morning, father,” Arthur returns. He stands at the opposite end of the table, formal. This is a business visit. “I’ve had word with a man in the village. He saw someone entering the vaults beneath the castle yesterday afternoon.”

“Merlin,” his father guesses. He’s holding tight to his spoon. Arthur watches the tension in his father’s knuckles.

“A woman,” Arthur counters. “The man described her as secretive, dressed in a dark cape, but he caught a glimpse of red hair.”

Uther thinks on this for a long moment. Arthur glances once again at Morgana. She shrugs and together they wait for Uther’s response. Finally, his father comes to a decision. He nods and then regards Arthur.

“Gather your men and investigate. We can’t risk intruders roaming the vaults or the passages.”

Arthur bows and exits his father’s chambers. Morgana catches him in the hallway, her hand at his arm to stop him.

“It isn’t Merlin?” she asks.

“Of course it isn’t Merlin,” Arthur scoffs. “Merlin’s about as far from a warlock as one can get.”

Morgana looks down at the floor of the passage for a moment, then back up to Arthur. She smiles. “Good.”

**

Arthur gathers several of his men and prepares his return to the tunnels beneath the castle. He doesn‘t think that he will need the men, not now that he has the second half of the orb. Based on the information in Gaius‘s text, Arthur will be able to reassemble the two pieces of the orb, and being that he is the one cursed, destroy it. Still, Arthur wants the men there. He chooses them carefully, the same men that were in the marketplace the day that Merlin found himself accused. Arthur needs witnesses.

He leads them through the vaults, into the passages beyond. He remembers the way easily, the turns, and when he comes to the tunnel he holds up a hand for his men to stop.

Things have changed since the last time Arthur was here. He remembers the bright light that threw them back against the wall of the passage, remembers the water that dripped from the orb afterward, as though the force of the magic had caused a vast temperature change, had resulted in condensation on the surface of the dome.

It wasn‘t condensation. A large black puddle has collected on the ground beneath the dome. As Arthur’s men gather around it Arthur notices a single bubble at its center. It pops and another bubble begins to form.

“Wait,” Arthur says. The puddle bubbles again and then it begins in earnest so that it looks to be boiling.

“Stand back,” Arthur orders.

His men obey and just in time. As they watch, a dozen creatures materialize from the depths of the pool, taking their ghastly shape from the liquid. The creatures have faces like miniature horses, but the flopping ears of a dog and the body of a rabbit. And they can fly. None of this is important though. What is important is their teeth, sharp and curved.

Gaius didn’t mention anything about this.

They plunge into a battle, his men shouting as they swing at the creatures. Arthur pursues one of the, stumbles, then drops his sword. Another comes at him from behind. His shoulder is bitten and he cries out.

His men are faring better than Arthur. Three of the creatures are lying on the floor of the passage. Arthur manages to hit one with his sword and he pierces it, but it grabs the end and won’t let go. Arthur grips the hilt hard as the creature drags him around the tunnel before finally dying on his blade. It takes Arthur several minutes of kicking to remove the corpse from his sword.

Arthur makes his way to the dome still attached to the ceiling of the passage. He removes its partner from his bag. As soon as it is exposed completely, its companion falls free of the ceiling, crashes to the ground. Arthur turns it over, presses the half from the roof to its twin and watches in amazement as the two halves merge to create a perfect black sphere. The sphere glows from within now, as though something is alive inside of it. Arthur stares, ignores the men still fighting around him.

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, different than the fight of his men and the creatures. He looks up to see Merlin watching him.

Arthur turns quickly back to the sphere. He doesn’t want to risk one of his men catching him staring off, turning to see what’s caught his attention. They can’t know of Merlin’s presence. Arthur shakes his head.

Get back, you idiot.

Merlin is going to ruin everything. If someone sees him here no one will be convinced that he had nothing to do with the orb. Arthur lifts his sword. He must end this now or risk one of his men noticing Merlin first.

Arthur brings his sword down hard onto the orb. The tip glances off the surface of the sphere, throwing Arthur forward. His sword hits rock, sending sparks flying and stopping Arthur from falling to the ground. Arthur curses, steadies himself. He stabilizes the sphere between his feet and tries again. The force pushes the sphere, and Arthur nearly falls once more as he watches it roll away from him.

Leon trips on the orb, flails back and hits Serrick with a fist. Serrick falls to the ground and is nearly mauled by one of the creatures but Arthur gets there first, knocks the creature away and helps Serrick to his feet.

Once Serrick is mobile again, Arthur chases after the orb, finally stops it against the wall of the tunnel with his foot. He presses his foot hard against it, pushing it against the unyielding rock. He lifts his sword. He tries to aim, but has difficulty stabilizing his sword, as though a force is pushing his blade away from the orb. Arthur concentrates, holds steady, fights it.

Finally he feels sure that his aim is good, feels his sword steady and still in his hands, and he bears down. It hits the surface with a loud metallic sound. Nothing happens and Arthur grunts and pushes down with as much weight as he can without moving his foot. Finally he hears a hiss and then feels his sword puncture the surface, sink down into the orb. The room is filled by that same flash of light and everyone shouts and stumbles back, covers their eyes.

When the light starts to fade, Arthur removes his hand from his face. The woman is back, growling at them and then she screams, her shriek piercing the room so that they all cower back, covering their faces once more, their ears.

When the light finally fades and the smoke clears, Arthur and his men are alone. The orb, the creatures and Merlin have all vanished.

**

“Sir Leon tells me that he saw a vision during your battle,” his father says when Arthur brings him the news. Leon must have rushed to speak with the king and Arthur clenches his jaw until he remembers that day in the forest, remembers Sir Leon’s face when he realized Merlin had escaped. Leon’s on his side.

“Yes,” Arthur agrees.

“Of a woman screaming,” his father urges.

“She fit the description of the woman seen entering the vaults,” Arthur confirms. Arthur describes the orb to his father, the markings on its surface. His father frowns at the description of the intersecting arrowheads, then urges Arthur to continue. Arthur describes the creature and the battle, and finally the vision of the woman.

Uther takes it all in, nods finally and says. “I’m glad that Merlin is innocent of this,” his father admits. “It’s only too bad that in this test of character he’s failed and run. You shall have a new manservant at once.”

“I think Merlin might turn up,” Arthur says.

The king shrugs, doesn’t seem to care what happens to Merlin one way or the other now that there isn’t magic involved.

“If he does return,” his father says. “I will leave his punishment to you.”

“Thank you, father,” Arthur concedes, bows and leaves.

**

Arthur spends the afternoon thinking. About Merlin. Everything has been about Merlin these past weeks.

He thinks about magic and he thinks about stolen kisses and fevered touches. He thinks of Merlin, careless, behind bars, with a noose around his neck. He thinks about how long Merlin’s hidden himself from Arthur and how easily that one small slip brought down his hard work. If Arthur had been a different man, Merlin would be dead now. Executed for trying to save his prince.

He thinks of Merlin helping him on the roof that morning, of Merlin watching the battle in the tunnels. He thinks of Merlin serving him breakfast and gathering his laundry and helping him with his armour. He thinks of the two of them in Arthur’s bed, bodies moving against each other, voices hushed.

All roads lead to Merlin’s execution.

He’s in the forest as soon as night falls, as soon as he’s fulfilled his day’s duties. Merlin, for once, isn’t hiding, is waiting patiently for Arthur to turn up. He grins when Arthur approaches and Arthur scowls, points a finger at Merlin’s chest.

“You,” he says, moving forward until his finger is pressed against Merlin. “You have no instinct for self preservation. You’re wreckless, insubordinate, stupid - “

He pauses. Merlin is still smiling up at him, seemingly just happy that Arthur is here, happy that the enchantment has been broken, happy that they’re alive and together. Arthur feels the anger in his chest drain. He looks away, sighs, and then turns back to Merlin. His pointing finger falls and when he lifts the hand again it’s to set it on Merlin’s shoulder instead.

“Thank you for saving my life this morning,” Arthur concedes.

Merlin’s mouth falls open so that he looks like a smiling and surprised lunatic.

“What was that?” Merlin asks. A smiling, surprised, _deaf_ lunatic.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I said thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Merlin says, still grinning. He moves away from Arthur and sits down on the log, then looks up and pats the space beside him.

Arthur accepts the invitation and sits.

“You could have been seen in the tunnels,” Arthur says. “And then what would I have said?”

Merlin shrugs, smiles again, but it‘s a smaller smile this time, not the happy grin of Arthur‘s arrival. “Yes, father. I’ve been hiding my fugitive manservant in the forest?”

Arthur laughs. “He’d execute you just to teach me a lesson.”

“Probably,” Merlin agrees.

His father is a great man, a great king. Arthur loves him, looks up to him, would follow him anywhere. But there are some things that Arthur just sees differently. Those things, those differences, have changed so much this last week that Arthur’s head spins.

Arthur shakes his head, sighs.

“You know that you will only be safe if you leave Camelot,” Arthur says when he cannot hold the words back any longer.

“I know,” Merlin says. Arthur turns to him, a hand on Merlin‘s knee.

“You _could_ leave,” Arthur suggests. “You could join with the druids. They would help you.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agrees again.

“If we leave in the morning you could find their camp by nightfall,” Arthur continues, brain working now, making plans.

Merlin frowns.

“I’ll go with you,” Arthur offers. “Help you find them. We can make up some excuse for my absence.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can.”

“I have a job here.

“I release you from it,” Arthur counters. “You can search out Lancelot. You can aid him.”

Merlin shakes his head. “I have to stay here. I belong here.”

“You - “ Arthur starts, but Merlin isn’t finished.

“I‘m needed here,” Merlin cuts in.

Arthur almost retorts, almost spits his next thought. Here doesn’t want you. Here you’ll be put to death for what you are, for what we are together. He holds his tongue.

It isn’t true anyway. Here wants him. _Arthur_ wants him. Arthur sighs and Merlin knocks against him. Arthur isn’t sure what the gesture is supposed to mean. Consoling? Annoying? Strangely enough, Arthur doesn’t feel all that annoyed and he leans in, presses his mouth to Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin smells of earth and grass and fire. He must have taken a swim sometime that evening. Arthur can smell the lake on his skin.

“You’re a stubborn fool,” Arthur says after a moment.

Merlin laughs. “ _I’m_ the stubborn one here?”

Arthur sits up, away from Merlin. He clears his throat and says, “It will look suspicious if you show up at the castle again right away.”

Merlin sighs. “This is punishment, isn’t it? I try to help you and you force me to sleep on the ground with squirrels and worms.”

“Just a few more days,” Arthur assures him. “You’ll survive.” Neither of them notes that if Merlin is spending more nights in the forest, the chances are high that Arthur will choose to sleep with squirrels and worms as well.

“I woke up this morning with beetles on my face,” Merlin says. “I have no blankets, you haven’t once brought me food. I could _starve_ out here and -”

“It’s just a few days,“ Arthur says again. “Stop talking,”

When Merlin doesn’t, Arthur kisses him. It works.

**

Each evening it’s the same. They couple frantically, hands and mouths needy, desperate for each other. They thrust against each other, slide together, suck and bite and clutch. It’s fevered and urgent, as though they both realize it can only last this short time. They don’t voice their thoughts. They don’t talk about it.

“It seems we’ve been possessed by rabbits,” Arthur jokes instead when they lay together afterward, breath heavy, skin damp.

“Maybe it’s another curse,” Merlin says. After a moment he adds, “Let’s not try to break it.”

“Maybe it isn’t a curse at all,” Arthur says and reaches for Merlin again.

The following night things move slower, as though through some unspoken agreement. Arthur kisses his way across Merlin’s skin, takes his time with every inch and feels Merlin’s fingers on him, doing the same. Their kisses are slow, lazy, until Arthur feels like he’s drunk on Merlin, drowning in him.

Merlin presses a small jar into Arthur’s hand.

“What is this?” Arthur asks. He doesn’t want to remove his hands from Merlin, but eventually he does, takes the jar, opens it and examines the contents.

“Gaius gave it to me,” Merlin says.

“Is it a serum?” Arthur asks, sniffing. The contents are colorless by the light of the fire, odorless. “Do I drink it?”

Merlin smiles against Arthur’s neck. He takes the jar back from Arthur’s hand.

“Here,” Merlin says. “Let me show you.”

It isn’t a potion or a medication. Arthur follows Merlin’s lead, lets Merlin show him what to do, and then takes over the task, sliding the contents of the jar into Merlin on his fingers. Merlin is quiet beneath him, breath a little ragged, eyes closed. Arthur wonders how Merlin knew to ask for this, when Merlin met with Gaius, what Merlin must have said. It doesn’t matter, what matters is the way that he feels when he’s finally surrounded by Merlin, hot and tight and his. The way Merlin grips him, pulls him closer, and kisses him when Arthur starts to move.

The week passes and they both start to feel it. Arthur has regained his coordination and is unlikely to be injured by tripping over his own two feet, unlikely to die a humiliatingly clumsy death right in front of Merlin. Arthur’s father does not mention the sorceress Nimueh again. He does not direct Arthur to search for her. He seems content for the time being to simply forget the affair entirely. He doesn’t ask about Merlin, but he has not tried to replace him either.

Enough time has passed, the atmosphere has settled, and for the moment, magic is no longer on the tip of Camelot‘s tongue.

Arthur kisses Merlin in the dark recesses of Camelot’s forest and finally says the words they’ve both been waiting for.

“Tomorrow I’m sending Leon into the forest,” Arthur says. “He will be scouting on the west side of the lake. Let him find you and bring you in.”

**

One week after Arthur destroyed the Orb of Undun, Arthur wakes to find Merlin setting his breakfast as though none of it ever happened.

“You’re back,” Arthur says. It’s only been a few hours since they left each other. It feels much longer.

“Sir Leon happened upon me in the woods this morning,” Merlin says conversationally. “I ran, but I tripped over a root and he caught me easily. He told me that you’ve identified the real sorcerer. He laughed that anyone ever thought that it could have been me.”

It has gone exactly as they’d planned it while lying alone together in the forest. Arthur looks down at himself, at his bare chest and the sheets bunched at his waist.

They haven’t discussed what would happen once Merlin returns. They’ve carefully avoided the subject, choosing to live in the moment instead. Arthur knows why they didn’t speak of it. Arthur knows the conclusion they would have reached if it had been a conversation. What’s happening between them must stop. It’s too dangerous, it’s too messy, and it will never end well. Arthur looks at Merlin now and doesn’t care for any of those reasons, thinks maybe it’s still worth a shot. He opens his mouth, but finds he doesn’t know how to tell Merlin so, doesn’t have the words.

“I need to train with my men,” Arthur says instead. It‘s true, yet sounds like a ridiculous lie, abrupt and inappropriate.

“Right,” Merlin nods. He begins collecting clothes from Arthur’s floor.

Arthur sits forward. “What are you doing?”

“Your laundry,” Merlin says. “It’s been a week. It’s a disaster in here.”

“Oh,” Arthur says. He looks toward the end of the bed, at the shirt that Merlin has laid out for him. “Good.”

**

Arthur watches Merlin as he carries a pile of swords. He’s awkward, fumbling, and the weapons threaten to fall from his grasp. He watches Merlin trip over the uneven ground, drop half of his load. He watches the way Merlin gets flustered when Arthur’s men laugh.

Arthur sees no trace of the magic that Merlin showed him in the forest, no sign that Merlin possesses any sort of power at all.

That night Arthur sleeps alone, thinks of Merlin in his bed at the other end of the castle. He wonders if Merlin will come to him, remembers the night that they slept here together, awkwardly avoiding each other’s touch. He closes his eyes and imagines Merlin wrapped around him now as he falls asleep.

Merlin is handling everything much better than Arthur, is clearly used to hiding parts of himself from everyone. Arthur finds himself staring at Merlin, looking for signs, hints that their time together hasn’t been so easily forgotten. Sometimes he thinks he catches Merlin smile when nothing is particularly funny. He hopes it’s a memory that involves him.

He watches, hoping to catch Merlin stealing a glance, watching him the way that Arthur has been so carefully watching Merlin these past few days. Arthur stands back and waits, observes, spies.

He stands beside a hedge in the courtyard and spends an hour watching Merlin lug buckets of water from the well. Merlin struggles with it, could easily ease his own load, but the thought doesn’t seem to cross his mind. When Merlin glances up and catches Arthur watching, Arthur turns and rushes away.

Arthur watches Merlin scrub the floor of his room, watches the way his shoulders move, remembers pressing his lips to the pale skin between them.

“Merlin,” Arthur says from his perch at the table.

Merlin looks up, eyebrows raised. They stare at each other for a moment, but Merlin’s face gives nothing away, no indication that he even remembers what’s passed between them.

Arthur shakes his head. “You missed a spot,” he says, points it out.

Later Merlin bends and pokes at Arthur’s hearth, stokes the flames. Arthur thinks of the tiny fire in the forest, of the two of them crouched beside it. Merlin’s hands hold him as they rock against each other.

When they walk together through the castle Arthur eyes every dark corner, every empty doorway. He wants to push Merlin within, remove his clothes, make him shake with it, make him remember.

**

It should be obvious. Merlin was so obvious when he was worried for Arthur’s life, when he was cataloging the strange happenings that surrounded Arthur within the castle. If Merlin is thinking of him now, Arthur feels sure he should be able to tell. He should be able to feel it.

It infuriates him, makes him feel like everything that has come before this was a lie. It‘s irrational, but it makes him wonder if Merlin used Arthur‘s feelings to gain Arthur‘s trust, to ensure that Merlin would be welcomed back into Camelot. As soon as he thinks it, he banishes the thought. It‘s ridiculous. It‘s not Merlin at all. Arthur remembers the way Merlin touched him, the feel of Merlin‘s kisses, of Merlin‘s eyes locked to his. Merlin was in this just as thick as Arthur. Arthur is sure of it.

Finally, several days after Merlin returns to the castle, Arthur snaps, can no longer take Merlin’s indifference, his inattention. They need to have a conversation. They need to talk about what’s happened between them and what’s happening now. Arthur needs to know.

He waits for Merlin in the passage below the physician’s tower. Merlin won’t be expecting him, Arthur knows. He won’t be looking for him. Merlin hardly cares anymore what becomes of Arthur when they aren’t together.

It’s nearly evening by the time Merlin turns the corner into the passage. Arthur waits as Merlin approaches, calculates, plans.

Merlin seems oblivious to his surroundings, as far from a dangerous warlock as one can get. When Arthur springs out, grabs Merlin and pulls him into the empty room he’s been lurking in, Merlin tries to shout and Arthur has to slap a hand over Merlin’s mouth to quiet him.

Merlin’s eyes go wide. He begins to struggle, tries to pull Arthur’s hand from his mouth.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Arthur says, voice low, and Merlin’s eyes flash yellow. He speaks muffled words against Arthur’s palm and the door to the room slams shut behind them.

“What - “ Arthur starts, jumps, but Merlin is wasting no time now.

In Arthur’s surprise he’s released his hold on Merlin and Merlin grabs at him, fingers pressing hard into his arms as he pulls Arthur in. Their mouths rush together, teeth knocking painfully before finding each other again in a desperate kiss. Arthur reaches for Merlin once more, his intentions changed.

Merlin’s hands are everywhere, on his arms one moment, then pushing up beneath Arthur’s shirt, pressing to the bare skin of Arthur’s stomach the next. His fingers are cold on Arthur’s skin and Arthur gasps.

Merlin surges forward, abandoning Arthur’s chest to hold Arthur’s face as Merlin presses hard kisses to Arthur’s mouth. Arthur kisses him back with equal passion, has to remind himself to breathe. He pulls away, just far enough to gasp, to suck air into his lungs. Just far enough to remember who they are, where they are, and what Arthur wants. Merlin kisses the corner of Arthur’s lips, presses his mouth wet to Arthur’s jaw.

Arthur wants Merlin, wants what they had in the forest, and for the first time in days is positive that Merlin is with him. Merlin is catching his breath now too. His fingers are twisted into Arthur’s clothes and he presses his forehead to Arthur’s cheek, holds Arthur to him, the urgency of the kiss subsiding for a moment.

“You’ve been spying on me,” Merlin says. Arthur can feel the air of the words tickle his neck.

Arthur laughs. It sounds nervous and unsure. “You’ve noticed.”

“You’re bad at it,” Merlin points out.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say something,” Arthur admits. “Waiting for some sign that it even mattered at all to you, that you want it to continue.”

“It matters,” Merlin says. “Of course it - I was waiting for you. I thought you wanted it to end.”

And now, now with Merlin here with him, Arthur shakes his head, pushes Merlin’s head back so that his mouth can press to Merlin’s again. Merlin is aroused. Arthur can feel it in the press of their bodies, would be able to tell even if he couldn’t by the look in Merlin’s eye, by the clasp of his fingers and the slide of his mouth.

“Come back to my chambers,” Arthur says.

“How is this - “ Merlin starts and Arthur kisses Merlin again to stop the words. He knows what is coming. How is this going to work? How is this going to end? Arthur doesn’t know, doesn’t care. They’ll make it work. It won’t end.

They aren’t equals, not really, but it almost feels like they are now. Magic is a threat to the kingdom. Arthur understands that. But magic doesn’t inherently make someone evil, no more than Arthur’s power as Uther’s son makes him evil. Merlin isn’t a threat to him or to his father. Merlin will remain loyal as long as Arthur deserves that loyalty from him.

Instead of a threat, Arthur looks at Merlin and sees possibility. A chance to heal old wounds, to mend bridges that were burned long ago. He knows he should be wary, but this new knowledge somehow makes him feel _safer_ in this. Makes him feel what he’s always felt, but had no rational basis for until now - they are stronger together.

They can keep this secret between them. They can hide it from the world the same way that Merlin has hidden his magic. Merlin is good at hiding, Arthur sees that now, though he wouldn’t have guessed it just two weeks ago.

They can do this. They can play their parts, live these double lives. Merlin will be safer with Arthur as his ally. Arthur will be safer with Merlin at his side. They are better together, happier, strong. Eventually they’ll put words to this, to this thing between them, and it will grow stronger still.

One day Arthur may be king. When that day comes, he’ll want Merlin still. He’ll need Merlin there.

“Come to my room,” Arthur says again.

“Yes,” Merlin agrees.

Arthur keeps his fingers on Merlin as they step out into the corridor. His hand is on Merlin’s arm, then his waist as he pushes Merlin toward his room. Arthur walks too close, steps on the back of Merlin’s shoe, stumbles forward against Merlin’s back. Merlin turns quick, grabs Arthur, steadies him.

“Don’t fall,” Merlin warns.

Arthur shrugs.

It’s a little late for that.


End file.
